


Mine

by a_windsor



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Fix It Fic, Season 4 canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 31,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4 fix-it fic, not related to the Exile series. Begins in 4x03, will borrow from canon but mostly fix the utter lack of Nyssa-involvement in Sara's resurrection and restoration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: All dialogue in italics is in Arabic. The first chapter is short, because only the end of 4x03 needed to be rewritten.

  
  
Merlyn’s mistake is to house them in adjacent cells.

The walls are rough stone and far too thick to provide any access, but sound echoes and carries in the hallway. The dungeons were designed that way, so that one prisoner’s screams of pain and moans of hopelessness would work to demoralize and torture the rest.

Sara does not scream in pain, though. She screams in rage and snarls in frustration, rattles her chains and lashes out.

Like an animal. _Like an animal._

Because she is not Sara, but some soulless husk with her Beloved’s form, a cruel mockery of the vibrant moan she loves. All because Laurel didn’t listen, couldn’t listen, wouldn’t listen, to her warnings.

She cannot chastise the elder Lance sister too hard. They were a family who love so passionately it often overrules any rational thought. And if Nyssa herself hadn’t been so weak, she’d have destroyed the Pit before they had any opportunity to raise her departed Yellow Bird.

She had held out a sick hope, though, that maybe the Pit would work better than she feared, maybe it would restore Sara body _and_ soul. And she had even, briefly, dared to believe it had. There had been _something_ in Sara’s eyes in that flash where she paused and looked at Nyssa. But then she turned, like the monster Sara had tried so hard _not_ to become, and attacked without restraint.

So Nyssa is equally to blame for the atrocity committed against her love, the desecration of Sara’s chance to finally rest in peace.

And her punishment for that is to allow herself to be locked in a cell in a fortress hers by rights, listening to the love of her life howl into the night, like the ghost that’s haunted Nyssa for a year.

She is weak even in taking her punishment, though. An hour of the screams and snarls, wrenching brackets and rattling chains is her limit, coward that she is, and she finally shouts in Arabic:

“ _Habibti, enough_!”

The noise from the other cell abruptly ceases, much to Nyssa’s surprise. All is silence, and she holds her breath.

“ _Habibti_?” the voice in the other cell rasps out, rough and barely human, not Sara and yet, at least a piece of her.

“ _It is me, habibti_ ,” Nyssa tries, going to the bars of the cell. “ _Do you know who I am_?”

Another agonizingly long pause and then:

“ _Mine_ ,” not-quite-Sara croaks.

Nyssa’s knees go weak, and she leans against the freezing metal bars with her flushed forehead.

“ _Yes, Sara. Yours_.”

“ _Mine_.” The rattling begins again as Sara growls it. “ _Mine_.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Nyssa commands. “ _Stop_.”

Abruptly, Sara stills. 

“ _You will hurt yourself if you continue to struggle. You need to rest. I will get us out of here, habibti. Rest as best you can. Do you understand_?”

“ _Mine_ ,” the almost-Sara responds, almost gentle. And then. “ _Rest_.”

“ _Exactly_.”  
  
***  
  
She is standing in Sara’s cell within another hour. This is _her_ fortress. She knows its secrets; a number of its assassins are still loyal to her, and the rest at least hesitate before disobeying her, and hesitation is all she needs.

Not-Sara is crazed, excited, by the guard that Nyssa has to kill to gain final entry, his blood spilling onto the floor. 

Nyssa quickly learns that this shell does not respond to suggestion and request. Command is all she understand.

“ _Be still_ ,” Nyssa says firmly, and with a final thrash, shell-Sara obeys.

Nyssa pulls down the chains that connect her Beloved to the walls and floor, but, with difficulty, leaves the shackles at her wrists and ankles, unsure of how long this obedience will last. Not-Sara doesn’t like that; she snarls again, but before she can move, Nyssa takes her face in her hands, meeting her wild eyes.

“ _Enough_.” 

Almost-Sara leans her cheek into Nyssa’s left hand, even closing her eyes.

“ _Mine_.” 

Nyssa gasps before steeling herself.

“We must get your sister,” Nyssa says in English, and though Sara still looks at her with something familiar, she shows no recognition of what Nyssa has said.

Nyssa dares to remove her hands and takes one of Sara’s raw wrists in her hand. Shell-Sara hisses and recoils, but Nyssa murmurs an apology and takes her hand instead.

“ _Come with me_ ,” she commands.  
  
***  
  
Laurel’s door bursts open, and before she can react, two League assassins are tossed in. Sara leaps after them, tearing them apart, even in shackles. Then her sister turns her gaze to her, wild and soulless.

“Sara, no,” Laurel cries as Sara begins to stalk towards her.

Nyssa and Thea come running into the room, and Nyssa barks something authoritatively in Arabic.

Sara freezes.

Laurel gapes as seconds pass, and Sara keeps her attention fully on Nyssa.

“You can control her!”

“We will discuss it later,” Nyssa says, turning to Thea. It’s a mistake; Sara’s eyes follow Nyssa’s every movement, and when she sees Thea, she leaps again. Nyssa catches her chains and spins her around, yelling in Arabic, but it isn’t enough. 

“I am sorry, habibti,” Nyssa says in anguish as she jabs Sara with the needle in her hand. 

Sara slumps into Nyssa’s arms, and Nyssa gingerly, tenderly, scoops her up like a sleepy child.

“Grab a sword and make yourself useful,” Nyssa says, not unkindly, to Laurel and Thea. “We are leaving.”  
  
***

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

They steal a plane.

Well, really, they commandeer one. And someone to fly it. She cannot steal what is hers, and everything in Nanda Parbat is her birthright. She regrets, briefly, not staying to finish the usurper for good, but nothing is more important than Sara, and finding somewhere for Sara to heal is paramount. 

Nyssa has unshackled one of Sara’s raw wrists, washing it in warm water, drying it completely but gently, and tenderly wrapping it in gauze and taping it, a slight buffer against the rubbing of the metal ring. She unshackles the other, curses the fear in her belly at Sara’s hands unrestrained, even sedated. She undoes that corset she’s come to loathe, the one Sara died in, the one they buried her in. 

Sara’s skin is utterly scarless now. It’s almost unnatural to Nyssa: Sara had a collection of scars even before Nyssa brought her to Nanda Parbat, and she earned the rest through tireless work. 

Nyssa shakes her head and slips a soft cotton tunic over Sara’s head, long sleeves against the chill of the plane. Then she reshackles Sara’s wrapped wrist, which makes her even more nauseous than the fear.  She gives Sara’s other wrist the same treatment, meticulously, reverently, and then moves onto her ankles, switching leather pants for more comfortable leggings. 

Laurel watches from a few meters away, knees brought up to her chest and hugged tight, chin on her knees. Thea has retreated to the cockpit, not wanting to risk setting Sara off again. 

“Why does she listen to you?” Laurel finally asks. 

Nyssa does not look up. 

“I do not know.”

“Is it the Arabic? Or is it you?”

“I do not know, Laurel.”

That is not completely true, and she endeavors to be more truthful.

“I am not sure. She… recognizes me in some capacity.”

“Does that mean she’s in there somewhere?”

“I do not know, Laurel. This has never been done.”

“She doesn’t recognize me.”

“I know.” Nyssa pauses. “I am sorry.”

“She’ll come around,” Laurel swears. Nyssa is unsure who she is trying to convince, Nyssa or herself. “It’s just going to take some time. She’ll come back to herself.”

Nyssa hopes she is right, desperately. But she cannot quite believe it.  
  
***  
  
“Do you have a blanket for her?”

“Couldn’t she… hurt herself with it?”

“I’ll not leave her unsupervised. If you insist on locking her down here rather than in your apartment, she should have some level of comfort.”

Laurel has been flustered since they landed in Star City, as apparently it is now called. Returning home has brought a new reality to their situation. When Nyssa asks for a plan beyond this basement, Laurel simply asks for more time. 

But not-Sara is coming around to consciousness, slowly, and Nyssa draws the line at watching the body of her Beloved chained to a generator on cold concrete floors without a bit of softness. She is not really Sara, but she is not an animal, and even an animal would deserve a soft blanket.

“And a pillow, too,” Nyssa commands instead of asks this time, for someone must take command. 

Laurel doesn’t say anything, but she disappears upstairs, hopefully to do as Nyssa asks.

Nyssa will not be moved from almost-Sara’s side, though if that is to protect her or to protect everyone else from her, she is not sure. 

As much as she demands a plan from Laurel, it is not as if she herself had a plan beyond _evacuation_ , a fleeing from Nanda Parbat, invaded and occupied. The moment something like recognition quivered in not-Sara’s voice, she had no other choice. It had given her the most dangerous of weapons: hope.

Of course, hope’s most deadly attribute is its tendency to turn on its wielder.  
  
***  
  
“This is your fault,” Quentin snarls, close enough to push her.

He does.

She lets him, though her feet remain planted. 

Laurel grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.

“Dad, stop. Nyssa had nothing to do with this.”

Sara’s body growls, “ _Mine_ ,” at the contact between Lance and Nyssa, but Nyssa soothes her with a few gentle words, quieting that word which had filled her with hope at first, but is becoming twisted and sickening in the mouth of someone not quite her Beloved.

“She’s the root of all of it.”

“No, Dad. I did this. I did it.”

Quentin looks back at almost-Sara, huddled against the generator, wild and scared. He puts his face in his hands and sobs.

Nyssa had tried to keep to the shadows, to allow the Lances some time, but she had to intervene when Sara’s hands wrapped around Laurel’s throat, calling not-Sara to heel.

“What now?” Quentin asks, looking between Nyssa and Laurel, tearing his eyes away from what’s left of Sara.

“Thea just needed time,” Laurel notes. “Sara just needs more. She’ll remember more. She already remembers Nyssa.”

Nyssa feels the pain in the last sentence, and she wonders if that really is better. Maybe if Nyssa had never learned of this recognition, she could make more rational decisions about this shell of her Beloved. Maybe she would summon the mercy to put her down.

Now, she does not think she can.  
  
***  
  
When it is quiet, when not-quite-Sara has finally fallen asleep on the hard floor and soft pillow, when Nyssa is alone in the basement, a few feet from the rise and fall of her Beloved’s chest, she allows herself a moment of despair. Allows herself to marvel in the miracle of seeing Sara alive, breath in her lungs, when Nyssa spent a year with a hole in her heart, hemorrhaging in Sara’s absence.

The despair comes in the fact that she is bleeding. This is not Sara. Perhaps it never will be. And yet Nyssa will remain as hopelessly devoted to this shell as she was to the soul that once inhabited it.

All for that damned hope.

Not-Sara is closest to her Beloved in sleep, so when she begins to thrash in the throes of a nightmare, Nyssa cannot help but go to her. To her surprise, almost-Sara does not wake at her touch, just calms and curls into her. Nyssa is weak, takes her in her arms, positions the pillows in her lap, allows Sara to sleep that way as Nyssa smoothes her bedraggled hair and runs fingers up and down her spine.

Laurel finds them like that. She is quiet for some time, and then:

“What are we even doing? That isn’t Sara. That will never be Sara.”

“We must give her time,” Nyssa says, noting that the tables have turns, that now it is she who counsels patience.

“That’s easy for you to say: whatever she is, she remembers you. Listens to you.”

“Do you believe that this is what I want? For the woman I love, my partner and equal, to mind me as a child does its mother, as a dog does its master?”

“At least she knows who you are."

Nyssa scoffs.

The silence stretches between them again. Sara persists in an uneasy sleep. 

“How is this gonna get better, Nyssa? How are we going to fix her?”

“I do not know.”  
  
***  
  


tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Nyssa, returned from one of her brief and infrequent breaks in Laurel’s apartment, finds Captain Lance with his service weapon trained on a vacantly staring Sara. She does her best to temper her instinctive rage with her rational mind’s empathy. Laurel is half a flight behind her, shouting for her father.

“I cannot let you do that, Captain,” Nyssa says calmly as she grabs his shaking wrist and quickly, gently disarms him. He falls into her, head on her shoulder.

“It’s not her,” he sobs. “It’s not her. It’s just a monster. It’s not her.”

Nyssa stiffens at the contact and quickly passes him off to a horrified Laurel.

Not-Sara looks at her, eyes not quite at vacant as earlier, but still not really Sara. The light just isn’t there.

“ _Are you alright, habibti?_ ” she asks softly. 

The shell simply tilts her head to the side, hands held in front of her, limp and chained.

“ _Are you in there, Sara?_ ”

Somehow, the shell becomes less human at the name, simply staring at her. Nyssa returns the stare, while Sara’s father continues to sob.  
  
***  
  
It’s days in that basement with almost-Sara.

Nyssa, who prides herself on her internal clock, is unsure exactly how many.

She is very unfamiliar with this sensation of not knowing what to do next. And Sara’s simultaneous presence and absence has left her head spinning.

Sometimes she is nothing like Sara. She is all id and animal instinct, tearing at the pictures Laurel brings, turning over plates of food.

Other times, she is so like Sara it hurts. 

Like, when she looks at Laurel and manages, in English, “Who am I?”

Like now.

She meets Nyssa’s eyes with that not quite right gaze and half-smiles.

“ _Mine_ ,” she says gently, reaching a hand out to touch the top of Nyssa’s. It sends a multi-meaninged shiver up Nyssa’s spine.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nyssa must admit. “ _Yours_.”

Nyssa hands her half a hunk of bread. Not-Sara eats better when Nyssa shares in her meals. They are seated side by side with their backs to the generator, a foot apart, partaking in fresh bread and warm squash soup in a quiet that is almost peaceful.

“ _Do you remember anything_?” Nyssa asks.

Sara’s body shakes her head and takes a sip of her soup. She scoots closer to Nyssa, and Nyssa keeps an eye on her hands, still deadly, though they remain shackled over the cotton wrappings Nyssa changes every so often.

Apparently, it isn’t her hands Nyssa should be worried about, because Sara has something else in mind. She leans in, and before Nyssa can (or wants to) react, Sara presses her lips to Nyssa’s. 

No.

Not Sara.

The kiss is rough, unpracticed, mostly foreign, so unlike the easy, practiced heat of before. And yet, it tastes like Sara, like home.

 **No**.

Not Sara.

Nyssa pulls herself away and scrambles to her feet.

It is too much; her chest feels too tight, mind racing.

Not-Sara slams her fist into the generator’s side with a vicious snarl, denting it.

Nyssa retreats back up the stairs.

She can’t be there, can’t stay in that room any longer. For a moment, one traitorous moment, she let herself think that thing was Sara. Let it kiss her and trick her and get in her head. She runs up the stairs, fast, passing Laurel’s floor, headed for the roof, struggling to return air to her lungs.

Struggling against the urge to turn around and taste Sara again.  
  
***  
  
“Did you take her out?” Laurel’s quizzical voice asks through the phone, clear even over the wind on the roof where Nyssa has hidden herself away.

Nyssa’s blood runs cold.

“I did not.”

“Oh god.”  
  
***  
  
Free of the shackles, Sara is nearly impossible to track and control. Nyssa begs Laurel to let her go out alone to hunt it, but Laurel’s guilt won’t allow it.

What Laurel has to feel guilty about, she has no idea; it is Nyssa’s lapse that has brought them here.

It matters not. Nyssa is not sure what she would do if confronted with this Sara doppelgänger alone. She has already proven that she is weak in its presence. She can only hope that one of them will think rationally when they finally catch her.

There are too many distractions out here, though. Just when Nyssa gets the blood-frenzied thing’s attention with a sharp Arabic command, a car backfires, or a bystander shouts, and it spooks, like the feral animal it is.

Thing. It. Animal. As much distance as she can shove between herself and the taste of Sara’s lips.  
  
***  
  
Finally, once Oliver Queen and his absurd judgment joins the fight, once tough little Thea Queen has had a few too many close calls with the business end of that thing’s rage, they corner it in Verdant. Queen and Laurel take a healthy beating, but then Queen has an arrow aimed at it, of the tranq variety.

But Nyssa is so very sick of arrows piercing her Beloved’s flesh.

“Be silent,” Nyssa commands Queen and Laurel, laying down her bow and taking a gentle step towards Sara’s body. Then she switches. “ _Be still, habibti. No harm shall come to you. I will not allow it_.”

It looks furtively between Laurel and Queen. 

“ _They will only protect themselves. You have nothing to fear, habibti. I am yours.”_

The thing relaxes slightly, opening up her body language as Nyssa steps in close. Sara flinches at the touch of Nyssa’s left hand to her cheek, but leans into it again. Her eyes close. 

“ _I will keep you safe_ ,” Nyssa swears, just as her right hand finds the correct pressure point, and Sara goes limp in her arms.

Queen and Laurel just stare at her, the unspoken “what now?” lying between them. 

“She’s still just a shell. You saw how she went after us,” Laurel laments, tears in her eyes. “There’s no soul in there.”

“Hey. Hey, Laurel,” Queen soothes. “Let’s get it back.”

Nyssa looks up sharply at Queen. If he can do so, she will begin to hate him less.  
  
***

tbc

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that all dialogue in italics is in Arabic.

  
After all the preparations are ready, after Quentin has laid Sara’s body in the center of the pentagram, John Constantine looks Nyssa over, slowly.

“ _Heir to the Demon_?” he asks in Arabic. 

“ _Once_ ,” she nods.

He looks between her and Sara’s shell.

“ _Habibti_?” he asks, almost gently.

She nods again.

“Oliver, mate, you didn’t give me all the facts. This isn’t just some Sara Lance.”

Oliver, Laurel, and the Captain give him a strange look. Felicity keeps her sympathetic eyes on Nyssa, just as she has from the moment they brought Sara’s body into this lair.

“This is Taer al-Asfer, Beloved of the Heir to the Demon,” Constantine continues.

She notes that Quentin flinches as Sara’s League name.

“Very misleading name,” Constantine keeps rambling, “But strong magic, that Demon. Sorry about the coup.”

“That was Mr. Queen’s doing,” Nyssa says cooly.

“Ah. Alright then.”

“What’s the relevance?” Oliver asks, avoiding Nyssa’s gaze.

“They are bound. **Body** and soul. The League’s magic is a tether between them.”

“Is that why she listens to her?” Quentin asks.

Constantine nods. “Most likely. This’ll be a sight easier than I thought. So, who will be accompanying Ms. al Ghul and I? I’ve got enough juice for one more.”

Laurel and Oliver step forward simultaneously.

Laurel stares Oliver down with an impressively icy gaze of which Nyssa is quite proud. Oliver wisely retreats.

Nyssa offers her hands to Laurel, who takes them with a nod.

“Thank you. For believing in her,” Laurel says softly.

“It is you who had faith Laurel. I simply am powerless to leave her behind.”

Laurel nods, tears in her eyes, and Nyssa understands that it is the same for her.

“We will not come back without her,” Nyssa promises.

“No, we won’t.”

Constantine does his magic in his own way; it’s different than the magic her father worked, louder and more showman-like, but it seems to accomplish its task.

It is a rush of light, and then they are in an almost Nanda Parbat, an almost home. Nyssa tells herself she will not hope, that the Sara she has is all the Sara she will get, but with every step they take towards the Pit, she feels more like they have an actual chance.

They are immediately beset by men identical to but completely unlike those she spent her whole life training with and against.

Nyssa, in magical possession of her bow and quiver, drops one immediately, but they keep coming.

“Get to the Pit,” Constantine yells, and Nyssa shoos Laurel on with a nod of the head as she helps him keep them at bay. She keeps an eye on Laurel’s progress, but these mystical projections are formidable, as well as in possession of the numerical advantage.

“Nyssa!” Laurel shouts. “Help!”

Constantine echoes her. “Go. One is not enough. Your connection is the strongest. I’ll hold them off. Just - quickly.”

Nyssa hesitates. He is barely armed.

“Nyssa!” someone else screams.

 **Sara** screams. 

Nyssa’s stomach drops out. She fires an arrow into her opponent’s eye and sprints towards the Pit.

“Nyssa!” is Sara’s strangled cry, and Nyssa’s heart catches in her throat as she leans over the edge and meets Sara’s eyes. Even amidst the flailing and fear and desperation, they are her eyes. 

Nyssa catches one of her hands, holds it firm despite the slippery skin, and once she sees Laurel has the other, yanks, hard. Sara lifts up and out of the Pit, and the next thing Nyssa knows, they are back in Star City, Sara held, shivering, between herself and Laurel.

Time freezes. The seconds between when they return and Quentin joins them stretch a lifetime. Nyssa feels and sees Sara’s arm, solid and warm, in her hands, and she doesn’t dare look up from it, for fear that the earlier recognition was a trick of light, or at least a trick of the heart. It’s too much, Sara’s arm now fire under her touch, the fear bubbling in her throat. 

When Quentin reaches them, Nyssa relinquishes Sara into the arms of the Lances, backing away until her back hits the railing, hands grasping at it as she spins to lean over it, fighting back her bile, fighting for breath.  
  
***  
  
Laurel can’t stop sobbing, can’t stop smiling, can’t stop running her hands through Sara’s greasy, tangled hair and marveling at this miracle. Her baby sister is back, really, truly, back, body and soul. Her dad is there, and it’s as if their tears are mixing and healing them all together. 

Sara smiles, that exhausted Sara smile, drinking them in with those eyes so uniquely Sara, the light Laurel has been vainly searching for for weeks, finally returned.

“Nyssa,” Sara says suddenly. “Where’s Nyssa?”

Laurel follows Sara’s scanning eyes until she too finds her sister’s beloved, slumped over the railing. Sara struggles to stand, or at least, she tries to.

“I need -“ Sara starts, but Laurel’s a step ahead of her, hauling her to her feet.   
  
***  
  
It’s another nightmare. She’ll turn, and Sara will still be that thing. Or she’ll turn and Sara will be a corpse again, shriveled and decayed on that board. She’ll turn and- 

“Nyssa?”

She cannot turn. The voice is a trick, it’s - 

“Nyssa, please.”

She turns, slowly, bound to obey the unspoken command.

Sara is supported by Laurel’s arm wrapped around her middle. She smiles tentatively, gorgeously, like after she’d first had the audacity to press her lips to Nyssa’s. Nyssa maintains a one-handed grip on the railing, holding herself up.

“Hi. Whatcha doin’ all the way over there?”

There are traitorous tears on Nyssa’s face, tears on Sara’s even with that sloppy smile in face. The eyes are hers, the smile is hers, the exhausted stoop of her shoulders is **hers**.

“ _I’ve missed you_ ,” Sara says in **her** voice, her beautiful but not quite native Arabic, the only rasp that of tired depletion.

“ _Habibti_ ,” Nyssa whispers.

She takes a step forward, and she must be strong, because Laurel gives Sara over, lets her stumble a few steps right into Nyssa’s waiting arms.

“ _I lost you_ ,” Nyssa repeats into Sara’s shoulder, over and over. “ _I lost you, I lost you, I lost you_.”

“You have me,” Sara assures. “You have me.”

Nyssa can feel Sara’s breath through her hand on Sara’s mid-back, through the warmth of it on her face. She can feel Sara’s life through the wet, salty tears that slip onto the fingers that spread across Sara’s soft cheek.

“Hi,” Sara laughs through her tears. Her fingers grip onto Nyssa’s shirt, tight.

Nyssa smiles more widely than she has in well over an awful year and returns the teary laugh and ridiculously inadequate greeting.

“Hi.”

She can’t help herself, then; she tips Sara’s face back, just a little, brings her own lips to slip against Sara’s, soft and gentle and reverent. So reverent.

Sara sighs into the kiss, still holding tight to the front of Nyssa’s shirt and leaning forward, letting Nyssa take more of her weight, most of her weight, until her heels lift off the illuminated floor.

Their lips slowly, leisurely part, foreheads meeting.

“I’m so tired,” Sara murmurs, lips brushing Nyssa’s on a certain consonants. “Take me home.”

“ _Where is home, habibti_?”

Sara just tugs on Nyssa’s shirt, and Nyssa beams at her.

“Yes, my love. Will your sister’s apartment do for now?”

Sara nods, and Nyssa shifts to press a kiss to her temple. Sara’s arms stretch around her neck, and Nyssa scoops her up.

“She needs somewhere quiet to rest,” Nyssa says to Laurel, who wipes her tears and smiles and nods, leading her out. 

On the way, she passes John Constantine.

“ _Thank you. I am in your debt._ ”

“Nah. I owed Oliver one.”

“As he likewise owed one to me. But this, between us, is a debt unable to be repaid. When you need me.”

Constantine nods.

“Until next time, Heir to the Demon.”

***

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Sara sleeps, off and on.

Nyssa does not let her go. Not in the back seat of Lance’s patrol car, not in the elevator when each of them offer to relieve her of her burden, not when they enter Laurel’s apartment. She let Sara go once, when all of her instincts had fought against it, when her heart was filled with foreboding, and she’ll never repeat that mistake.

As soon as they are inside, Nyssa moves towards the couch, but Laurel stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“My bed. I’ll bunk with Thea tonight.”

Nyssa accepts this, altering her course.

Sara stirs a little as Nyssa lays her on the bed.

“I stink,” Sara observes. Or is it a protest? Nyssa chuckles either way.

“You may bathe after you have rested.”

“What if I don't wake up?”

“You will,” Nyssa promises, though she shares the fear.

“Stay?”

“ _Always_.”  
  


***  
  
After setting her father up on the couch (“Like I’m going anywhere.”) Laurel grabs a few essentials: giant glass of water, towels and extra blankets, a couple granola bars, ‘cause god knows how long it’s been since Sara has eaten.

 **Sara**. Her baby sister is actually alive and whole and **here** and - 

Fast asleep, on her bed. Nyssa lays beside her, also maybe asleep. Nyssa’s taller form curls protectively around Sara, who looks smaller than ever. It’s so intimate Laurel feels like an interloper in her own bedroom, but she can’t bear to leave Sara’s side yet. She puts the water on the nightstand with the granola bars and lays the rest on a chair.

Nyssa’s arm is lightly around Sara’s waist, and it’s so natural that it must be how they always sleep, at peace amidst the chaotic world.

Laurel should leave, she knows it, but she can’t. If she goes and lies down in Thea’s bed, Sara may disappear, may escape through a window, or even be stolen back by whatever had held her soul forever drowning in that Pit. Laurel just can’t risk it.

“There is room enough for you,” Nyssa surprises her. She even tightens her hold on Sara and tugs her closer, leaving even more space for Laurel on the queen bed.

Laurel hesitates; usually she’d have no qualms hopping into bed with her sister, and she considers Nyssa a friend now, but this still feels like an intrusion.

“You should stay,” Nyssa insists, even as she closes her eyes again and settles back on the pillow.

She does.

Laurel climbs into her bed, face to face with her baby sister. She reaches a hand out and tentatively touches Sara’s miraculously warm cheek. She begins to cry for the millionth time in the last weeks, but this time, it is gentle, a release, hot tears slipping down her cheeks, soothing her to sleep.

  
***  
  
Nyssa wakes feeling more drained than she has in a very, very long time. She imagines this is what a “raging hangover” feels like. Her eyes are swollen and dry; it hurts to blink. Her lips and throat are equally parched. When her vision finally clears, she is staring directly into Sara’s clear blue eyes.

“Morning, sleepyhead. You look like crap.”

“I love you, too, habibti,” Nyssa croaks grumpily. 

How on earth is Sara so damned perky when she feels like hell warmed over. What **had** they done last night? Had they- 

It all comes rushing back to her, and she grabs Sara into a tight hug, like if she lets go, the last twenty-four hours will have never happened.

“Oof. I know,” Sara mumbles into her shoulder. “I know. But I’m still kinda sore, so can we not break my ribs?”  
  
Nyssa immediately releases her, backing up, but she’s right at the edge of the bed. Right. Laurel had joined them last night.

“Where is your sister?”

“Breakfast,” Sara says. “Did you know she slept with us last night?”

“She seemed reluctant to leave you; I invited her.”

Sara smiles and it punches Nyssa in the gut in the absolutely best possible manner. 

“That’s sweet.” A pause. “I’m starving.”  
  
***  
  
Laurel is returning, looking like she cleaned out the nearest bakery, when Sara and Nyssa make their way into the kitchen.

“Where’s Dad?” Sara asks. 

“He needed a meeting,” Laurel says gently. “He’ll be back soon; honestly he thought you’d sleep most of the day.”

“I’m starving,” Sara says again, then teases and elbows Nyssa’s ribs: “I think my stomach growling woke Nyssa up.”

Nyssa has a strange half-smile on her face and just shakes her head.

“Certainly woke me up,” Laurel grins, handing Sara the box of donuts she is making grabby hands towards. 

“Hey, now Ollie’s not the only one to get both Lance sisters in bed,” Sara cracks a terrible joke as she sits at the table. 

“Oh gross, Sara,” Laurel predictably groans.

But Nyssa had flinched at Oliver’s name, and the look that remains on her face tells Sara enough. Sara’s vision clouds red with the vicious flash of rage, narrows and focuses with deadly purpose. 

“ **What did he do**?” she demands.

Laurel drops her gaze, and Nyssa looks away, just briefly, before returning her gaze. Sara reads her eyes well enough; she didn’t lose that in the Pit. Whatever he’s done, she’ll likely kill him for it.

“What did he do?” Sara repeats. 

“Look, it’s -“ Laurel starts.

“He killed my father and installed Al-Saher as Demon’s Head.” 

Nyssa pauses.

“ **And**?” Sara asks through gritted teeth. 

“In the eyes of the League, Oliver and I are married.”

Sara leaps to her feet, eyes locked on Nyssa’s defeated face. 

“Sara, take a second. She didn’t have a choice.”

Nyssa closes her eyes; she knows that’s the wrong thing to say, that Laurel is misinterpreting Sara’s ire.

“You didn’t have a **choice**?” Sara rages. “Did he touch you?”

Laurel gets very quiet, maybe a little queasy.

“ _Habibti, leave it.”_

“Did. he. touch. you?”

“No. You know he would be dead if he had.”

“The night is still young,” Sara spits. “Tell me everything.” After a moment of excruciating silence, she adds, more gently. “Please.”

***

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!


	6. Chapter 6

“Sara,” Dig greets her, warmly, if a little shocked.

“Hey, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be - ?”

Oliver doesn’t get a chance to finish that inane sentence before Sara’s fist cracks against his jaw.

“Whoa, hey,” Dig starts.

“What the hell, Sara?”

This time it’s a punch to the gut. Oliver staggers, and she knees him in the groin. When he doubles over, she brings her elbow down on the back of his neck. 

He hits the ground, and it feels **good** , it feels right. He threatened what is hers. She wants to end him.

Sara moves to leap on him, but strong arms wrap around her middle.

“Whoa. Hey,” Dig repeats. “What’s going on? We havin’ a little soul-free episode?”

“He tried to kill Nyssa. He let Ra’s force her to marry him under threat of death and rape. Rape by him.”

“I never - I wouldn’t have-“

“That’s not the point! She didn’t know that.”

“Uhh. She has a point, Oliver. That’s messed up. You wanna hit him again?” Dig asks calmly, looking to Sara.

“Yes,” Sara answers, unable to keep the snarl out of her voice.

“John!” Oliver objects.

Sara’s next punch gets Oliver in the eye, and then Dig steps between them.

“That’s enough.”

“What if it was Lyla?” Sara barks.

“It was,” Dig says. “Not quite to that level, but he hurt a lot of us.”

“What the **hell** were you thinking?” Sara directs to Oliver.

“You were dead, Sara! You were dead and you left **me** with a mess to clean up.”

“I was - Oh my god, Oliver. Merlyn **played** you, and you have the balls to say you were just doing what you had to do. You protected **my murderer** , and at **Nyssa** ’s expense!”

“Nyssa is not some damsel in distress that needs your protection.”

“No, she’s an equal who you should’ve bothered to let in on the fucking awful plan.” Sara blows out an angry breath, tries to resist, just for now, the urge to snap his neck. “Tell me, Oliver: if Ra’s had followed you into that room, demanded proof the marriage was consummated, would you have done it?”

She punches him again for his hesitation. Dig makes no move to stop her. Blood drips from Oliver’s nose. 

“Goddammit, Oliver. You offered Nyssa up like a sacrifice, without her consent. Didn’t you even think about what I would have wanted? She is **mine**.”

“I didn’t even know you two were still-“

“Because you didn’t even care to ask. And she’s still a **person**. She deserved your respect. She deserved **better**.”

“I had to do it. All of it. For Thea.”

“For ego and your savior complex,” Sara spits back. She itches to strike him again, but Dig has stepped back between them to deter her.

“What do you want to hear, Sara? I’m sorry?”

Barely stopping herself from ripping through Dig to get to Oliver, Sara instead turns and slams a desk chair into the glass table, shattering a panel.

“That doesn’t meaning anything to me. It’s already done. You stole everything from her. Which means you stole it from me.”

“So, what? You want to hit me some more? Want to kill me?”

“If I really wanted to kill you, I already would have. Dig couldn’t stop me.”

“How can I make this better, Sara?”

“ **Don’t**. You didn’t think of me, then. Don't think of me now.”

Oliver takes a few steps around Dig, towards her.

“Sara…”

Her blood spikes, and she grabs the hand that reaches towards her, twisting, managing to stop herself short of breaking it only because of the brief look of fear in Ollie’s eyes. She has no remorse for it; he deserves it and worse.

“You and me? We’re done, Oliver. At least for a while.”

She leaves before she can do anything that Laurel and Felicity would never forgive her for.  
  
***  
  
“I guess she’s still a little Pit-crazed,” Oliver says after a few minutes of tense silence.

“I don’t know, man,” Dig says, handing Oliver a towel for the blood staining his face. “She made some good points. Even if she was a little - “ He mimes boxing. “-About it.”

“I guess I never realized,” Oliver says, tentatively, dabbing at his lip. “I mean on Nyssa’s side, yeah. But I didn’t know Sara-“

“Yeah. We both overlooked that.”

“How do I fix this, Dig?”

“Maybe she’s right, Oliver. Maybe you can’t.”  
  
***  
  
Sara is met by Laurel in the empty campaign office, because of course Oliver is running for goddamn mayor.

“He alive?” Laurel asks, trying and failing to be jokey about it.

“In general? Yes. To me? No.”

Laurel nods.

“I’m taking you home. Nyssa’s worried, but I convinced her it was better for me to come alone.”

“Probably.”

“I’m sorry, Sara. I should have-“

“Stop. It’s okay. It sounds like you’re the only friend she had.”

“I shouldn’t have left her there.”

“Nyssa can take care of herself. She could’ve left Merlyn’s League whenever she wanted. You stopped Oliver from killing her, though. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yeah,” Laurel agrees, maybe unconvinced.

“We should get back.”  
  
***  
  
Nyssa is in Laurel’s bedroom when they get back, staring out the window. Laurel announces she’s going for a walk.

Sara takes several steps and wraps her arms around Nyssa’s middle, presses her face between her shoulder blades and confirms the silent sobs she suspected.

Nyssa takes one of her hands, a thumb skidding stingingly over newly split knuckles.

“You have been fighting.”

“I paid Oliver a visit.”

“You needn’t defend my honor.”

“Yeah. I need.”

“Sara,” she tuts. “Does he live?”

Sara nods against Nyssa’s spine and says:

“I’m sorry.”

A deep, shuddering sob wracks Nyssa’s body.

“Hey, what? I can go back and kill him…”

“No, no, habibti. It is **I** who am sorry. I who failed you.”

“What? How?”

“I opposed your resurrection, Sara.”

“Oh, Nyssa.”

“You were the opposite of him, Sara. Of my father. I did not want those waters to do to you what they had done to him.”

“And they did.”

“You made me swear, Sara. No matter how injured you were.”

“I know. You were right.”

“But if Laurel had listened to me, had honored our wishes…”

“Hey, none of us could have known about Constantine.”

Nyssa pulls away, spinning, back pressed to the window sill.

“You shouldn’t forgive me so easily.”

“I will forgive you for anything,” Sara counters, stepping in, taking Nyssa’s hips in her hands, relishing the feel of her against newly-alive skin, all over again. “For doing **exactly** what I would have wanted you to do in that situation? There’s nothing to forgive, Nyssa.”

“But if-“

“Hey.” Sara moves a hand to Nyssa’s smooth cheek, smiling brightly until she gets an answering grin, slight as it is. “I’m here. No what-ifs.”

“I cannot promise the what-ifs won’t haunt me.”

“But I’ll be here when they do,” Sara swears. She lifts to kiss Nyssa, an easy motion her recently-dead body has no problem remembering. Nyssa clutches at her back, then threads her hands in her hair, and suddenly Sara is **very** aware of the fact that she has not bathed in a very long time. She pulls away, reluctantly.

“Um, I need a bath.”

Nyssa snorts, and Sara watches some of the darkness fade away from her eyes. She grins softly. 

“But, y’know, hold that thought. ‘Cause a bath isn’t **all** I need.”

“Yes, your newly delicate skin also looks like it could use a band-aid or two.”

“Rude.”  
  
***  
tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder the italics= Arabic. Sorry for the delay. My own beloved made me marathon The 100. :P

The water falls hot and delightful on her skin, beating away the accumulated grime and bringing with it a sense of, at least temporary, peace. She can focus on just the water, not the before, not what comes next, not the stillness of death or the constant almost-drowning of the Pit. Running water she can handle… It’s gonna take awhile, again, to get comfortable with large amounts of standing water.

The steam still warm in her lungs, Sara gets out of the shower and wraps a fluffy white towel around her, grateful for Laurel’s fancy taste. She steps back into the bedroom. Finally, she feels so very, very clean.

At least physically.

Her mind is full of all the dirty, dirty things she wants to do to -

“Felicity!”

Nope. Not who she was thinking of. She lets out a sigh, steeling herself.

“If you’re here because of Oliver-“

“No! No. I - I love him, flaws and all. But he has made a lot of mistakes. I’m not here to pick sides.” She pauses. “I’m here because I missed you.”

Sara relaxes and smiles. “Can I get dressed?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, please. I’ll just,” Felicity turns and faces the corner, removing her glasses. “Your girlfriend is so scary.”

Sara chuckles and drops the towel, grabbing the clean clothes Nyssa left folded on Laurel’s bed. After she’s done sliding them on, she says:

“Okay, I’m decent.”

Felicity turns around and wallops her with a bone-crushing hug immediately.

Sara wraps her arms around her and squeezes her back.

“Hey you.”

“Welcome back,” Felicity says, voice muffled in Sara’s neck. 

“Thanks,” Sara laughs. “Sorry I beat up your boyfriend.”

Felicity pulls away, but not too far, hands on Sara’s shoulders, looking at her with disbelief still. 

“Oliver can take a beating. Especially one he deserved. But I told you. I’m not here to talk about him. I - you were **dead**.” 

“I was.”

“How’d they drag your dad away from you? Does your mom know? Is Nyssa going to handcuff you to her - Oof, wait, **too soon**.”

“Wait, what?”

Felicity cringes.

“Do you remember anything about the time between when you were dead and when they reunited your soul?”

“No? Just that I was a little hard to control - Oh.”

“Yeah, you could only listen to Nyssa. And there were, uh, shackles involved.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Sara quips before she can stop herself, and Felicity blushes a little but laughs warmly.

“You’re so you.”

“Yeah, who else would I be? Okay- maybe a bad time to ask that.”

Felicity smiles at her. 

“Hey, do you think you can find someone for me?” Sara asks.

“Probably. Who?”

“Thea or Roy might know where she is.”

“Roy’s not here anymore.”

Sara starts. “Did he-“

“Oh! Not **not here** like you **weren’t here**. He just left. It’s a long story. But you mean Sin, right?”

“Yeah, Sin. How did you-“

“I remember your little shadow. She’s been in a few scrapes with the law since, but mostly stayed out of trouble. I’ll find her for you.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure if I’m ready for her to know yet, but - I’d like to know where she is.”

“Consider it done.”  
  
***  
  
“So… how would you feel about becoming a hermit?”

“Dad…”

“Two times, Sara. Two times! I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“Okay, Dad,” Sara chuckles, bumping his shoulder with her own.

Nyssa wants to say something about how the Captain needn’t concern himself with Sara’s safety, but she made such an oath to him once before and failed to keep it, so she stays quiet.  
They’re watching football, the American kind, on the television, and there’s been no talk of vengeance or Oliver Queen in hours. That’s good, because it means **Sara** is here, and not the rage. The rage is different from the monster, but it consumes her all the same.

Not that Nyssa doesn’t appreciate the source of Sara’s rage, that possessive, defensive anger. It has been so long since anyone was on **her** side. Even before the Pit, Sara would have been angry about what transpired. Sara believes that Nyssa deserves the world, deserves **better** , even when Nyssa does not.

But the Sara of the rage reminds Nyssa of the shell, reminds Nyssa of before, and she prefers this Sara, joking, laughing, yelling at the television Sara. Laurel and Quentin are there, and Felicity Smoak has stayed. Thea Queen is conspicuously absent, but that is probably for the best, since they are unsure as to whether the more mundane, bloodlust effects of the Pit linger after Constantine’s ministrations. 

Nyssa laments the distance between herself and Sara, she in a chair, Sara wedged between her family members on the couch. Sara keeps looking her way, though, with looks alternatively warm, which swell her heart and ease her nerves, and **hot** , which stoke a fire already burning low in her belly. Nyssa prays Laurel keeps to a separate bedroom tonight, for she longs for (but perhaps also fears) the touch of her beloved.

Later, after Felicity has gone home and Quentin has prepared his couch for the night, Nyssa is granted her wish. Laurel hugs her sister tight, rolls her eyes at some of Sara’s ridiculous resurrection “jokes”, and heads to Thea’s room for the night.

Nyssa is strangely nervous now, after hours of wanting, to be at last behind closed doors with her beloved. The ardor is dampened, too, in Sara’s eyes, although she pulls Nyssa into her arms almost immediately.

“ _I missed you_ ,” she admits into Nyssa’s shoulder. “ _When I didn’t know my own name, when I was **dead** , I missed you. Do you know what my last thought was?_”

Her voice is soft, conscious of the cramped quarters and the hour, though none here speak Arabic.

“ _Habibti, you needn’t-“_

“ _I thought about how you’d never forgive yourself. And how much I hate that you’re always right.”_

_“Sara…”_

_“Can we go get a hotel room or something? I want - I **need** to be alone with you.”_

_“We are alone.”_

Quentin snores loudly from the living room, undercutting her point.

“ _It’s **so much**_ ,” Sara says. “ _I need to breathe. I need space. With you_.”

Nyssa is still powerless to resist her.

“ _Your family will worry_ ,” she protests weakly. 

“We’ll leave a note,” Sara promises. “Please, Nyssa.”

“Very well.”   
  
***  
  
 “Thank you,” Sara says, glancing around their suite. “Thank you.”

The desperation of earlier has fled, the ardor quickly returning. She winds her arms around Nyssa’s neck, pressing in close. She now has Nyssa’s full attention.

“This is exactly what I needed,” Sara says, stretching languidly against her.

Nyssa calculates which is closer, the bed or the sofa, but Sara does not give her a choice, pushing them towards the bed.

It is slow, it is steady, but it is insistent. 

Nyssa hits the mattress with a thrill, considers again that the last thirty-six, forty-eight hours could be a dream.

Doesn’t care.

Sara straddles her hips and works her mouth lower and lower until she-

Abruptly sits up.

Nyssa lets out a groan of disapproval.

And Sara snatches a flying arrow out of the air.  
  
***  
  
tbc


	8. Chapter 8

Sara growls and throws the arrow back in the direction it came, producing a grunt from one attacker, as the windows shatter. Then she rolls them onto the ground. Nyssa does not object, and three more arrows hit the bed where they were just laying. Sara yanks a knife out of its sheath on Nyssa’s thigh as Nyssa slips one out of her boot. 

Sara curses her anxiousness to get out of Laurel’s. She’s completely unarmed besides the multiple knives Nyssa always has on her person. She ducks long enough for Nyssa to throw her knife over her shoulder and then turns, leaping to her feet, taking the assassin unaware and throwing him into the one behind him. Nyssa jumps up too, immediately engaged with another assassin. 

A League assassin. 

**Goddamn Merlyn.**

They have to get out of this room: it’s basically a cage. Sara grabs the stand up lamp to her right and slams it into the assassin running straight for her. It’s oddly weighted at the ends, but it’ll do for now in place of her bo. 

“ _Let’s go_ ,” Sara calls to Nyssa, nodding towards the door. 

Nyssa stabs an assassin in the gut with the sword she probably won off of him and kicks him off the blade, making for the door. An arrow glances over Nyssa’s shoulder, and Sara ducks out of the way as it strikes the wood behind her. Sara yanks open the door and grabs Nyssa’s elbow to push her out ahead of her. She holds the door shut behind her as Nyssa pulls a nearby credenza over, which will at least slow them down a second. They take off for the stairs, but in the florescent blue concrete stairwell, they come face to face with another assassin.

Nyssa swings her blade, but the assassin has already dropped to her knee, removing her veil. 

“ _I serve only the true Demon’s Head_ ,” she says quickly. “ _There are those who defy the imposter_.” 

“ _Talibah_.”

“ _I wished to warn you before they arrived, but you were not at Taer al-Asfer’s sister’s home._ ” The younger assassin flicks her eyes to Sara briefly, standing at Nyssa’s hand gesture and handing Sara her second sword. “ _It is good to see you well_.”

Sara nods. “ _We should move. Are they on the roof or in the lobby_?”

“ _Both_ ,” Talibah says quickly, already heading downstairs. Sara and Nyssa run to keep up. “But the sixth floor balconies are close enough to the building across the street that we can make it.”

“ _Very well. Lead on_.”

The stairwell door bursts open, and Talibah immediately looses an arrow, striking the first through the door. 

“ _Move_!” Sara says, trying to remember which floor they’re on now. When they reach the next level, a helpful giant “SIXTEEN” answers her question. Ten floors isn’t so bad. Several arrows zip past her head, incentivizing her to run faster, and she takes the stairs two at a time, grateful that her newly resurrected body still seems to maintain the old one’s muscle memory, if not its scars.

Suddenly, at what Sara belatedly realizes is floor six, Talibah skids to a halt and drops to her knee. She nocks an arrow and aims up, covering them.

“612!” Talibah instructs. 

Sara grabs Nyssa’s forearm and drags her into the hallway. Talibah gets off another arrow before throwing herself into a forward roll after them. Sara takes Talibah’s remaining blade from the sheath on the assassin’s back and jams it awkwardly through the door handle. The door opens in, and it’s not going to hold long, but every minute counts.

They sprint to 612, locking the door behind them, and breathe for a moment on the balcony. It’s only when Talibah goes to draw her bow to fire the line across the chasm between the buildings that all three of them notice the arrow in her side.

“ _I’ll take the shot_ ,” Nyssa says as the door begins to rattle, taking the bow. Sara quickly checks Talibah’s side. It’s not great, but it’s not immediately fatal.

Sara looks up at Nyssa just in time to essentially feel more than see the arrow sailing towards them. 

A sharp tug at her shoulder pulls Nyssa’s head a matter of inches, and the arrow hits the wall directly behind the space formerly occupied by Nyssa’s head.

Nyssa lets out a sharp breath and nods her gratitude. Sara nods back, scanning the surrounding roofs. 

“ _If we go now, we can avoid that sentry_ ,” Sara says.

Nyssa looses the corded arrow. “Then by all means, let’s go.”  
  
***  
  
“Sara! Where are you? The news has reports of archers at the hotel, and Dad is freaking out.”

“Verdant basement. Can you bring medical supplies? Make sure you’re not followed.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“Fine. Someone else is hurt.”

“Okay… Let me bring Oliver and Dig in on this.”

“No! No Oliver. Maybe Dig. This is the League. Oliver’s already chosen his side.”

“Sara…”

“No. Oliver.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Watch your back.”  
  
***  
  
“How many loyal?” Nyssa asks as Sara gently cleans out Talibah’s wound. Laurel and Dig stand close, in the ruins of the old Arrow lair, arms crossed over their chests in mirrored poses. Sara’s dad sits in one of Felicity’s abandoned chairs, brow continually furrowed. They speak in English for the Lances’ benefit.

“Less than half, more than a third. Anyone who isn’t a man, and some of them, too.”

Sara smirks a little and tapes some gauze against Talibah’s abdomen, before wrapping the entire abdomen. 

“Is Merlyn aware of you?”

“Of me in particular? Likely not until I started shooting at my companions,” she says. “Of the large number of us who would see you return to your rightful place? I do not know.”

“So we may have the advantage of surprise, if not numbers. Though he must see me as some kind of threat to send you to kill me.”

“You are the Heir. **No** , you are the Demon. You are a threat to his legitimacy for he has none,” Talibah says as Sara finishes up and rolls down her shirt. “Thank you, Taer al-Asfer.”

“You’re welcome. You next,” Sara gestures to Nyssa’s shoulder. 

“I’m-“

“ **You next** ,” she repeats.

Nyssa sighs and slips off her over-shirt, letting Sara attend to the graze.

“So what are we talking about here?” Dig asks. “A coup? A civil war?”

“Of course we are,” Sara says, not looking up from tending the cut. 

“Sara…” her dad complains. 

“Nyssa’s a threat,” Sara says matter-of-factly. “Merlyn’s not gonna stop coming for her. Even if Oliver asks super nicely,” she adds sardonically. “And Nyssa shouldn’t give up what’s hers.” Nyssa looks over to her with veiled lids, and Sara gives her a little smile. “ _And what is yours is mine, and I won’t let anyone, especially Al Saher, take it._ ”

Talibah, of course, gives no reaction, trained as she is, but when Sara glances up Dig is looking at them with something wavering between appraisal and approval. 

“We just got you back,” Quentin argues but Sara doesn’t look at him. Can’t. “I don’t love the idea of you rushing off into battle.”

“It’s not like we’re safe here,” Sara counters, bandaging Nyssa’s shoulder. 

“Well, not as long as **she** ’s here, you’re not.”

“Dad!” Laurel complains.

Now Sara does look at him and tries to quell the rage in her gut. He doesn’t get it, but that’s not entirely his fault, and she has put him through so much.

“Your father speaks some truth, habibti,” Nyssa says before Sara can put her father in his place. “The danger is mine.”

“What’s yours is mine,” Sara repeats in English. “I just got back to you. I’m not letting anything short of death take me from you again.”

“ _And I am not quite ready for death to claim you again either_ ,” Nyssa counters hotly.

“Well, it’s hasn’t really stuck yet now has it,” Sara shoots back with a snarky grin. 

Nyssa almost-growls. 

“Look,” Quentin says, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Nyssa, I’m not trying to- I don’t want anything to happen to you, either, honest. But she’s my little girl.”

“The war is here whether it is wanted or not,” Talibah speaks up, boldly. Sara looks at her with pride. She is their newest, but greatest, recruit. 

“I agree,” Sara says. 

“I have to, too,” Dig echoes. 

“Me, too,” Laurel says, earning shocked looks all around. “We didn’t bring Sara back just to keep her in a cage, or hiding and on the run. We brought her back to live, however she wants. And Merlyn is the one who wants to end that. Again. He’d kill Sara again in a second to get to Nyssa, even if they weren’t in the same place. They’re a set, Dad. Everyone knows it.”

Quentin takes a beat, meeting Sara’s eyes.

“Alright. So how do we win this war?”  
  
***

 

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

“It doesn’t feel right not telling Mom,” Laurel says again.

“And if I die before this is over? It’s not fair to make her mourn me three times,” Sara counters.

“She has a right to- What are you doing?”

“Recording your formal objection, counsel,” Sara says, holding her phone out, cheeky grin in place. “If I survive, I will take all the blame for not telling Mom.”

Laurel glares at her, but then a grin breaks across her face and she uncrosses her arms.

“You’re such a little shit.”

Sara chuckles.

“I liked you better as a zombie,” Laurel lies.

“I know, sis,” Sara lets her.

“You should let Oliver help you.”

“Stop it, Laurel,” Sara says, all good humor evaporating from her. “I don’t trust Oliver. He’s a terrible solider, and he’s only loyal to his bullshit moral compass. He’s a liability. And what he did to Nyssa is unforgivable.”

“Okay,” Laurel cedes. “Okay.”

“You should go down get some rest with Dig and Talibah. We’re leaving as soon as Dad and Nyssa get back.”

“You should, too.”

“Nah,” Sara shakes her head. “Somebody’s gotta keep watch, and I’m not tired.” She doesn’t anticipate being tired again for a long time.

Laurel heads for the ladder.

“What is **with** you and boats, anyway?”

Sara chuckles and calls after her.

“It’s only for a day or two.”

“Ugh.”

Sara smirks out the open cabin door, smelling the salt air and listening to the rhythmic creaking of the moored fishing boat as she waits for two of the three most important people in her life to get back with supplies.  
Sara (and Laurel and Dig) argued against **the actual target** being the one on the supply run, but part of fighting to restore Nyssa to the Demon’s Head is actually taking her orders. Nyssa’s thinking had been to keep the target moving, rather than reveal their next move.

There is a creak out of rhythm outside the door, and Sara has the sword up and off the navigator’s table just in time to level it at Thea Queen’s throat. Thea’s eyes widen in alarm, and she raises her hands. She doesn’t say anything, though, resigned to her fate.

“Thea, **what the hell**.”

Sara pulls the blade away and drops it back on the table.

“You don’t want to kill me?” Thea asks, voice a little meek.

“No. Why?”

“I killed you?”

It flashes back to her, Thea holding a bow level, dead-eyed, Merlyn over her shoulder.

“I mean, not really. You were clearly on something.”

Thea crumples, and Sara catches her, pulling her tight.

“But that’s not how the Pit works,” Thea sobs. “Before, you were-“

Oh. 

Sara lets her go.

“Constantine cured me,” Sara shrugs. “I think. Or maybe now that I can have conscious thought, I know Merlyn really killed me. I’m not sure. I mean, killing him sounds really freaking great right now, but I’m not sure it’s… blood lust great?”

Thea nods sympathetically.

“Oliver killed Ra’s.”

Sara’s blood boils.

“Ra’s gave me the injury that put me in the Pit.”

She should have killed Oliver, fucking with things he couldn’t even begin to understand.

“So…” Thea continues. “If you’re actually cured, not just.. transferred? Let me know.”

“Sure thing. How did you find us?”

“Felicity. Laurel tells her everything, basically. I wanted to help. Or at least give you a chance to cure your blood lust.”

Sara stares at her for a second and then pulls her back into a crushing embrace, kissing the top of her head. 

“Jesus Christ, Thea. We’ll talk about that last part later. But we’re launching a civil war against your- I mean, I guess he’s your dad.”

“Kinda,” Thea shrugs.

“Why do you want to come then?”

“This is at least partly my fault. Merlyn used me, and Oliver thought he was doing the only thing he could to save me. I let Merlyn into my life. I couldn’t get Ollie to stop.”

“Thea,” Sara sighs. “That’s a stretch.”

Thea shrugs again. “I’m a pretty good fighter.”

“So I hear. Are you sure?”

Thea nods.

“Okay. Did you bring anything?”

Thea ducks out the door and comes back with a duffle.

“Bunks are downstairs. Go grab one and wait for a lecture from Laurel and Dig.”

“Great,” Thea grins sarcastically. “Lectures. My favorite.”

Sara laughs.

“You’ll survive.”

  
***  
  
“ _You should sleep_ ,” Nyssa whispers into the top of Sara’s head, pressed into Sara’s back, hands on her shoulders.

_“And let you drive? Psh!”_

It’s mid-morning. They left at dawn, when Sara won round one of the “You rest.”, “No you rest.” game, and Nyssa caught some sleep in the co-pilot’s chair.

_“Sometimes I still think you’re a dream.”_

“ _Me too_ ,” Sara agrees, rounding her back and sinking into Nyssa’s embrace. “ _If it is, let’s just keep sleeping_.”

“ _Agreed_ ,” Nyssa says, nuzzling behind Sara’s left ear now, arms encircling her waist. “ _I tried to go on without you, habibti. Like I promised. But I couldn’t._ ”

Sara has nothing to say to that. She takes one hand off the wheel, reaching behind her to the nape of Nyssa’s neck. She’s always known what losing her would do to Nyssa, knew it when she walked away, knew it when those arrows pierced her chest.

“ _I love you_ ,” Sara finally says.

Nyssa’s arms tighten around her, and she presses a kiss to Sara’s cheek and releases her.

“ _I love you, too. Don’t hit that buoy._ ”

“ _I would **never** hit that buoy_ ,” Sara mocks affront, adjusting her course ever so slightly.

“ _You have been driving for several hours,_ ” Nyssa nods over the top of the ladder, where Talibah is emerging. “ _Allow Talibah to pilot while we discuss how you brought the Magician’s daughter on a mission to kill him_.”

  
“ _Noticed that, did you_?” Sara asks, smiling to Talibah and handing over the wheel with a gesture to the navigation screen. “ _Nothing gets by you._ ”

  
“Cute,” Nyssa says, handing her a cup of tea she’s apparently been hiding from her. “ _Explain_.”  
  
***  
  
“Where are they?” are Malcolm’s only introduction. “Where. Are. They?”

“What are you talking about?” Oliver asks, brushing past him.

“You raised Sara Lance from the dead.”

“You did that.”

“You restored her soul,” Malcolm clarifies. “Made her more than a snarling animal. And now she and Nyssa al Ghul are raising an army against me, Oliver! So where are they?”

“I honestly don’t know. And if I did, why would I tell you?”

“The League will raze this city searching for them. So just tell me.”

“I haven’t seen them in days. Not since.” Oliver points at his bruised face.

“No one was at Laurel and Thea’s apartment. It looked like there hadn’t been. For **days** ,” Malcolm emphasizes. “Where is your sister?”

Oliver starts to look concerned.

“If they have her, Oliver…”

“They wouldn’t hurt her,” Oliver assures.

“She killed Sara!”

“Actually, you did.”

Malcolm is taken aback but quickly recovers.

“We cannot allow Nyssa al Ghul to take over the League.”

“We who?”

“You made me Ra’s, Oliver. You picked me. And if they have your sister…”

Oliver drags out his cell phone and dials Thea. It goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi, this is Thea. I’m gonna be unavailable for a bit, but leave a message.” Pause. “Oh and if this is Ollie, I’m fine. Don’t listen to a word Malcolm says. Wherever I am, I chose to be here. Oh and Laurel and Dig are with me, too. Stop worrying.”

Oliver looks at the phone in stunned silence. How had he missed all three of them skipping town?

“So those degenerates have her.”

Oliver’s gaze flicks to Malcolm, something starting to click for him.

“We have to do something,” Malcolm repeats.

“We who?” Oliver asks again.

“Oliver…”

“Malcolm, I’m not going to take up arms against Sara and Nyssa. If you can’t defend your ring, you’ll lose it.”

“They will use your sister-“

“Then give them the League, Malcolm!”

It is Malcolm’s turn for stunned silence.

“The League is no longer my concern. I trust Laurel and Sara. And I trust Nyssa with Sara around. Do the right thing, or fight your own battles.” Oliver steps in. “But if you let anything happen to Thea, I’ll kill you before Nyssa can.”

***

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminders of formatting: Arabic is in italics, and new this chapter, flashbacks are indicated by ///////// before and after.

“ _I’m sorry about your dad_ ,” Sara says softly.

Nyssa starts. No one has said that, at all. 

“ _I mean, I’d kill him myself if he were still alive, cause clearly the Pit had finally taken what was left of his mind. But it must have been hard to lose him_.”

“ _I welcomed his death when it came, though I should have been the one to swing the blade. But I did - I do, mourn the loss of the man he once was, or at least that I believed he was. And the loss of his confidence and respect.”_

 _“I know. But no one can run the League better than you can. Even him_.”

Nyssa nods, sitting on the edge of the bed. “ _I am tired, Sara. A year without you… It took everything from me. And now we must fight a war. Against our own._ ”

“ _They are not our own anymore_ ,” Sara counters.

Nyssa sighs, then agrees: “ _At least the League will be cleansed. But I do not relish this war_.”

Sara nods distantly, fiddling with their gear on the nearby table. Apart from a few hours while Sara piloted the fishing boat on the first leg of their journey, time alone has been hard to come by. Now, in the League’s safe house in Islamabad (whose caretaker remained loyal to the true Demon’s Head), they are able to shut a few doors between themselves and their growing army. 

Nyssa is unable to rekindle the ardor of earlier in that Star City hotel room, though. She is viscerally exhausted from everything that surrounded Sara’s resurrection and eventual restoration. Her mind is filled with tactics, plans, and contingencies, with the occasional memory flash of the feral Sara-creature that emerged from the Pit. She aches for Sara’s touch, but not in the way she had in the interrupted lust of five nights earlier.  
Sara’s rage, directed and focused on a target she can kill now, is a low-burning fire in her eyes and seems to have given her unlimited energy, her only rest coming in short naps. Now, she has moved behind Nyssa on the edge of the bed, a knee on either side of her hips, strong hands taking to the knots in Nyssa’s shoulders.

“ _The war will wait a night_ ,” Sara soothes. “ _And we can’t win if our Ra’s isn’t at full strength. Clear your mind_.”

The last is a frequent admonishment Nyssa had for Sara during the latter’s training days, and just hearing it begins to relax some of the tension from Nyssa’s spine. Sara’s expert fingers weakening the remaining resistance.

“ _What did I do to deserve you in my life, Taer al-Asfer_?”

“Shh,” Sara breathes in her ear. “You’re not the only lucky one.”

Nyssa melts back into her.

“ _Come lay down with me_ ,” Sara instructs, crawling towards the pillows. The lights have been turned down low already. Sara had planned this seduction into sleep. 

With her head tucked between Sara’s ear and shoulder, strong arms wrapped around her, legs tangled, Nyssa finds her sleepiness is overpowering her formidable defenses, and she melts into sleep.  
  
***  
  
Nyssa does not dream for the first time in she does not know how long. She sleeps deeply and wakes with Sara’s body still pressed against hers, hip to hip. Sara is not sleeping, though. She has a pad of paper in hand, brow knit in concentration, as she messily sketches something out.  
Nanda Parbat.

“ _Felicity reached out. Merlyn is in Star City. I think we should take it while he’s gone_.”

" _Our numbers are still small_ ," Nyssa notes, pushing up on her elbows. The sun is up, but just so. The fingers of sunlight find the gold in Sara’s hair as it falls over her face, which is bent in concentration over the pad. Nyssa shakes off the last tendrils of sleep.

“ _But we have surprise_ ,” Sara counters. “ _And no Merlyn. We could take the fortress and be waiting for him. And if Talibah can get a message inside before we get there, the numbers are better_.”

“ _Mm. And how do you suggest we get a force of twenty into Nanda Parbat undetected? The fortress is imminently defensible._ ”

Sara turns the pad towards her, pointing.

“ _The same way you and I used to get out_.”  
  
***  
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  
  
“Oh my god, we’re totally sneaking out, aren’t we?” Sara asks in her oh-so-American English, not Arabic like she should. 

Nyssa does not correct her. Whatever it is they are doing, it is certainly not training, where Arabic is required. (Nyssa is not so sheltered as to not have an idea about ‘whatever it is they are doing’ after Sara pressed her soft lips to hers a week previous.) 

“This fortress is the only home I have ever known, and I know it as only a child can,” Nyssa explains, choosing Sara’s native tongue for tonight.

“That's not a ‘no’,” Sara grins widely, letting Nyssa check that there is no one around the next turn. Nyssa turns back to her and somehow finds that Sara’s hand has found its way into hers. Sara’s grin remains unchanged, but there is an extra twinkle in her blue eyes.

Nyssa does not remove her hand.

“Around the corner and three paces down. Follow my lead.”

“Very exciting,” Sara says, just a little teasing. “Hey, aren’t we near the kitchen?”

“As I said - as only a child can.”

They round the corner and then Nyssa drags Sara into an alcove, pulling the rough wooden door closed behind.

“Are we in a closet?” Sara asks.

“Taer al-Asfer, why must you ask so many questions?” Nyssa sighs. There is the faintest light under the door, but Nyssa knows this place, light or no. “It’s a pantry. Surplus storage for the kitchen.”

“Oh. That sorta takes the fun out of the joke I was gonna make. Did you Shawshank out of here? Tiny baby prison break?”

Nyssa barely understands what must be a cultural reference and ignores it. With her free hand, she feels for the fifth column, bottom shelf and its omnipresent twenty-pound bag of rice.

When she finds it, she tugs on their still joined hands, pulling Sara closer. The toes of Sara’s boots stumble into Nyssa’s, her shoulder pushing into hers, and Nyssa inhales, the scent of Sara and this childhood haven mixing together, warming Nyssa’s belly. 

“If you just brought me to this pantry to make out, I’m totally okay with that,” Sara says softly.

Nyssa thrills at that and maybe her knees even weaken. She doesn’t understand how Sara can be like this, so brazenly flirtatious when even the hint of Nyssa’s favoritism has painted a target on Sara’s back. Nyssa considers kissing her then: she has replayed their three previous kisses every night before she sleeps, and she is anxious to make it four.

Five.

Six.

But no, not yet. There is greater privacy where they are going.

“Not this time,” Nyssa finally says, hoping it sounds as flirtatious as Sara is. She reluctantly drops her hold on Sara and moves for the rice. She lifts it and hands it to Sara in the dark.

“Um thanks?”

“Put it down behind you,” Nyssa instructs. Her hands find the subtle dips in the stone floor, sliding her fingers into the grooves and lifting. The stone budges from place, and Nyssa carefully slides it over, just enough to allow passage. Then she pulls out an electric lantern, hanging it on the protruding nail on the top rung of the ladder. She can navigate the steps and tunnel at the bottom of them easily with no light, but that is much to ask of Sara.

(And Nyssa won’t mind more time to look at her without an audience.)

At the bottom of the ladder, Sara fails to take Nyssa’s hand again, so Nyssa slips her hand into Sara’s instead. 

Sara makes no objection.

Nyssa leads them down the tunnel, towards daylight, as Sara laughs and jokes the whole way. At the end, Nyssa shows Sara how to undo the screws inside and push aside the grate.

“Can’t the sentries see us?” Sara asks softly as they emerge into the sun. Despite its remote and top secret location, Nanda Parbat has around-the-clock guards posted.

“We are in a blindspot,” Nyssa gestures upward, where an outcropping of rock blocks the view of the fortress wall above. Sara grins widely.

“Little Nyssa had her own way in and out of Dad’s castle.”

“Privacy is a luxury one must fight for here in Nanda Parbat.”

“Tell me about it,” Sara grins, knocking her shoulder into Nyssa’s.

Sara turns to look over her shoulder, then lets go of Nyssa’s hand to spin completely and take in the view. 

“God, it’s gorgeous up here.”

The landscape is quite stark, dramatic really, but Nyssa has seen it her whole life and she cannot summon the awe Sara does.

At least not for the view.

Sara, the daredevil, finds the rock that juts furthest from the cliff’s edge and crawls out, dangling her feet over the side. Nyssa is helpless to do anything but join her.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Sara says, turning her blue eyes to Nyssa as they sit side by side, feet swinging over the abyss below. 

“You’re welcome.”

“Is this a dead end, or?”

“There is a path. We could go further, off the mountain even. But such a trek would take too long. We would be missed. Next time, perhaps.”

Sara looks at her with that look, and Nyssa knows it is is coming even before Sara leans in to kiss her warmly.

Nyssa lifts her hand off the rock, careless of falling because if she dies kissing Taer al-Asfer, she would die happy. After brushing her palm against her legging to rid it of gravel, she slides it against Sara’s soft cheek, enjoying the vibration of the soft moan from the back of Sara’s throat, against both her lips and her fingertips. Sara’s hand grips at the front of Nyssa’s shirt, pulling her closer. Nyssa gives in for beautiful, countless seconds, then pulls away, breathless. 

“This is dangerous, Sara.” Nyssa looks at her, so desperately wanting to kiss her again. “Being mine. It will make them hate you.”

“I can handle anything they throw at me.” Sara swaggers somehow, even while seated, but then her face gets the slightest bit more vulnerable. “You made me strong.” Now Sara lets her gaze skitter away quickly, then comes back to Nyssa’s eyes, brave. “Is that what I am? Yours?”

Nyssa feels herself blush despite her every effort.

“If you would like to be.”

Sara smiles widely and kisses her again. It’s a thousand sensations and one sensation, all at once. The soft drag of lips, the gentle push of tongue, the tingling as far down as her toes. It is completely overwhelming. Nyssa lets a tiny whine of disapproval slip out of her as Sara pulls away. What this girl has reduced her to…

“Does that mean you’re mine too?” Sara asks quietly.

“Of course, habibti,” Nyssa says, the endearment escaping. 

“Mine,” Sara grins sweetly, pulling her back in for a kiss. “I like that.”  
  
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  
  
***  
  
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darhk.”

“Malcolm Merlyn.”

“Ra’s al Ghul,” Merlyn corrects.

“Is it now?” Damien asks, even though he knows it is. 

“I’m here to discuss a mutual problem of ours.”

“You know I have long since cut my ties to the League of Assassins. What mutual problem could we have?”

“Nyssa al Ghul.”

Damien cocks his head.

“I’m listening.”  
  
***

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

“So you can’t handle a little insurrection from the former Ra’s al Ghul’s spoiled child?”

“Nyssa al Ghul is not someone to be taken lightly,” Merlyn counters.

Darhk considers.

“Why shouldn’t I let her take you out and then deal with the child myself?”

“The child’s Beloved is Pit-raised.”

Darhk’s eyebrows raise. “Sara Lance.”

“If you leave me in control of the League, I could care less what you do to Star City. I think we share similar ideas about its fate. But if you let Nyssa take command, the League will come for you with everything they have. That’ll be inconvenient, at the least. And you know what someone Pit-raised can do.”

“It has been generations, but it isn’t a power to underestimate.”

“And if we manage to capture Sara Lance alive, you can have her. I’m sure you have ways of… controlling her.”

Damien nods but counters:

“Why don’t I just kill you now and take the League? Kill the child, harness the Pit-born, and be done with you.”

“You don’t want the League anymore,” Merlyn argues. “You have your own forces. Merging them would be too much work, not enough reward. But a detente between the League and HIVE? Maybe even an alliance? That could work in your favor.”

A pause.

“You may just have a deal.”  
  
***  
  
Sara and Diggle pull first watch at the back of the boxcar they’re hurdling towards Nanda Parbat in, while everyone else prepares or naps.

“I’ve got a kid,” John says, a wry grin in place.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I kinda… missed it. How is she?”

“She’s good. Her name is Sara.”

“What?!” Sara’s eyes dart from the monotonous landscape to John’s smirking face. “Why would you do that?”

“Lyla didn’t want a junior, so I asked if we could name her after the second bravest person I know.”

“John… You really shouldn’t have. I mean, really. ‘Cause now I’m alive and that’s awkward.”

Dig laughs and claps Sara on the shoulder. 

“I’ll take alive and awkward any day, Sara. Sara the First? Big Sara?”

Her eyes shoot daggers at him. “Keep trying.”

He smiles.

“Thank you,” Sara says genuinely. “That’s an honor. An undeserved one.”

Dig shrugs. “You’re welcome. I’ve… I’ve been meaning to apologize.”

“For what? Dig, you just named your kid after me. You get like, all the passes.”

“I know, and I’ll hold you to that. I just… I didn’t get it before.”

“Get what?”

“You and Nyssa.”

“Well, John, when two people love each other…”

Dig rolls his eyes. 

“Let me be serious for a second?”

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t… We didn’t call Nyssa when you died, and we should have. We really should have. And I wasn’t exactly nice to her when she did show up. I guess I thought… I didn’t realize how much you love her, Sara, and that’s so obvious to me now. So, I’m sorry.”

Sara sighs.

“Thanks.” She looks back out at the landscape, because he means well and he is apologizing, but Sara’s temper is a hair-trigger thing these days, especially when it comes to Nyssa. She takes a deep breath and jokes: “It’s not like Nanda Parbat is easy to get in touch with.”

“We should have tried harder. We have Felicity.”

Sara smirks, just a bit.

“I appreciate the apology. And you coming with.”

Dig nods.  

“You sure you don’t like Big Sara? What about Sara Senior?”

“John Diggle, I will throw you off this train and raise Baby Sara as my own.”

Dig’s laugh echoes across the boxcar.

  
***

  
“Is Sara… sleeping? Like, at all?” Laurel asks like she already knows the answer. 

“Not much,” Nyssa supplies.

Laurel looks over to wear Sara and Dig are goofing off and keeping watch, then turns her attention back to Nyssa.

“She doesn’t seem tired.”

Nyssa shakes her head and continues ritually sharpening her blade. 

“Not since the first night, after John Constantine’s intervention, no.”

Laurel is worried. Nyssa can tell from the tone of her voice, the set of her jaw, and the mirrored anxiety Nyssa herself feels.

“Nyssa, I saw her pick up an entire crate of machine guns and put it on the train. Like it was nothing. Even Dig needed a little help. I know the League makes you strong, but…”

“Her soul has been restored. That has no bearing on the Pit’s **other** effects, it seems.”

Laurel visibly shivers, and it is a perfectly comfortable temperature in this train car.

“What are those?”

“Likely only my father, if anyone, knew. Perhaps Al Kahina. Perhaps we will discover more answers within Nanda Parbat.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

Nyssa shakes her head.

“I do not wish her to feel… different.”

“But what is she now?”

“She is Sara,” Nyssa says sharply.

“No, I know,” Laurel says quickly. “I know. I can see that. But… what else is she?”

“Did you guys know Dig named his kid after me?” Sara interrupts, giving no sign that she overheard their conversation, though she must have.

“No,” Nyssa answers honestly.

“Yes,” Laurel answers guiltily. 

“Just what your ego needs, habibti,” Nyssa says tenderly, tucking a fly away wisp of hair behind Sara’s ear, an escapee from the neat, functional braid Sara had Nyssa help with this morning, a call back to her training days.

“You two weren’t talking about me, were you? Did you two talk about me when I was dead?!”

Laurel rolls her eyes. 

“That ego,” she echoes.

“You’re up, Canary Two,” Sara bumps her sister’s shoulder.

“ **Black** Canary,” Laurel corrects, heading to meet Thea. 

“Call yourself whatever you like: just don’t call me Canary Senior,” Sara calls after her.

When they’re alone, Sara’s jovial manner pulls back, replaced with concern.

“ _How are you doing_?”

Nyssa feels guilty, then, for even entertaining the idea of Sara being anything other than Sara. Nyssa can see it in her eyes, in her every gesture. Every ounce of Sara’s soul has been poured back into her body, and nothing else remains.

It’s just the body that’s different.

Not just the lack of scars, either. Because Laurel is right: Sara can accomplish things she could not before, that no mere human could, even after the most rigorous training. Nyssa knows the Lazarus Pit’s magic when she sees it. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Sara says, hand on Nyssa’s cheek. “ _You okay_?”

And as much as Nyssa wants what is hers, her birthright, command of the League and the fortress she calls home, there is a small part of her that wishes to whisk Sara away from all of this now. 

Instead, she presses her lips to Sara’s. Takes her face in her hands and pulls her close, breathes her in and relishes the way her mouth moves under hers. Sweet and soft, a playful flick of her tongue. They have kissed so many times, in so many ways, hellos and goodbyes, and each variation is a new kind of heaven for her.

Someone has approached, someone clears their throat, and Nyssa considers throwing someone off the train.

Sara pulls away.

“ _My apologies, Ra’s al Ghul_.”

Right. That’s her now.

The interrupter is not Talibah: she knows better.

“ _The advance scouts have reported in. If you and Taer al-Asfer would join us_?”

“ _We’ll be there in a minute_ ,” Sara answers for her. “ _Thank you, Al-Riyaah_.”

The assassin nods deferentially and fades away.

“ _What if the intelligence is urgent_?” Nyssa asks, amused. 

“ _She would have told us. I get one more minute with you, my Nyssa, before you go boss everyone around as Ra’s al Ghul_.”

Nyssa smiles at her. 

“ _I will always be yours_.”

“ _I know_ ,” Sara assures her. “ _I’ve always known. Are you ready to go home_?”

“ _Home_ ,” Nyssa muses. “ _I guess it is that_.”

“ _For both of us_ ,” Sara says.

“ _The tunnel. We did not always sneak out together,_ ” Nyssa notes, trying to keep the sadness from her tone.

“ _No_ ,” Sara agrees, sympathy and guilt in equal measures. They both know that the freedom the tunnel brought them together Sara eventually took for only herself. Sara puts a hand on her shoulder. “ _No, we didn’t. Nyssa, I’m-_ “

Nyssa shakes her head.

“ _The past is the past, habibti. Do not apologize for something that has already been forgiven_.”

“ _Told you you’re not the only lucky one_ ,” Sara grins a little. She pushes up and presses a kiss to Nyssa’s cheek. “ _C’mon. Let’s go lead your war council_.”

***

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

  
The hike up the mountain is not treacherous this time of year, but it is not easy. The Lance sisters voice concern over their father’s ability to make it. Quentin lodges an objection to their concerns, and Nyssa reminds them all that the time for turning back has passed.

Still, she issues a quick order to Talibah to keep an eye on Taer al-Asfer’s father. 

Sara hikes beside her, tireless, Talibah and Thea Queen close behind, the vanguard scouts ahead of them.

Nyssa tries to be the leader she was raised to be, shoulders square and eyes straight ahead to face the enemy, but the proximity of Nanda Parbat is affecting her, bringing back memories. Memories of her father, memories of

Sara before and not-Sara more recently. She keeps sneaking looks at Sara as they get closer, keeps remembering her father’s lessons and her father’s promises, and how they’d all laid broken on the ground as he disavowed and dishonored Sara, harangued and humiliated Nyssa, and spit upon her mother’s grave, all while elevating that useless Oliver Queen.

He was not the man she remembered, and yet in some ways he had been, enough to make Nyssa wonder if he’d harbored those feelings about her her whole life, resentment simmering the whole time.

And now she walks towards that birthright, the League divided and Nanda Parbat occupied, and old doubts creeping into her mind about -

Sara catches her eye and winks ridiculously, and Nyssa’s doubts flutter into the wind. So long as Sara is here, an impossibility in itself, she can do anything.  
  
***  
  
“So we’re gonna fit in there?” Diggle asks, a little skeptically but not disrespectfully. He and Quentin are eying the grate at the end of the tunnel. Diggle looks up, at the rock blocking the view of the walls above.

“Yes,” Nyssa affirms.

“And they don’t know this exists?” Thea asks, nervously fingering her bow.

“Nope. Maybe her dad did, but he never stopped us from sneaking in or out through it,” Sara says. “It’s a pretty big tunnel, ends in a storage room in a tucked away corner of the fortress. Should give us a chance to surprise whoever’s in there.”

“A closet,” Laurel teases. “I can’t be the only one enjoying the irony of you two sneaking out through a closet.”

“It’s a pantry,” Nyssa and Sara say in unison.

“She’s very particular about that,” Sara adds.

“Yeah but you can’t make gay jokes about a pantry,” Thea grins. 

Sara snorts, and Nyssa rolls her eyes. 

 Quentin surveys the small opening and the wall of Nanda Parbat rising above it. He handled the hike surprisingly well for a man with a heart condition. He fell behind only once, and Sara offered to carry him the rest of the way. That threat had galvanized him to leap back into action, either indignant at the thought of being carried or shocked by the growing realization that Sara could actually do it.

“Well, when exactly are we making this climb?”

Nyssa cranes her face to the sky, the sun disappearing behind a high peak.

“We have little time to spare. Who knows when Al Saher will return from Star City. We move as soon as we cut away the grate.”

“Oh,” Sara says. She crosses to the grate, handing her bo to Diggle. Her fingers find a hold in the metal openings and she tugs, hard. With a sharp shriek and scrape, the grate strips its screws and tears free from the rock face. “Got it.”

The others freeze, and Nyssa swallows her surprise and, she is not ashamed to admit, arousal.

“That’s not exactly subtle, habibti,” she tuts lightly.

“Neither is a blowtorch,” Sara grins, leaning the grate against the stone. “At your command, Ra’s al Ghul.”

Nyssa surveys her army, just over a dozen League assassins (all women), and Sara’s friends and family.

“You’ve all been briefed on your roles: good hunting.”  
  
***  
  
It is astoundingly simple to take back Nanda Parbat, even with their small force. There are many in Nanda Parbat who are as reluctant to take up arms against Nyssa as they were to challenge Merlyn. They follow Ra’s al Ghul the title, not any person.

The cook who first sees them immediately bows before Nyssa and runs the message to the few dozen more loyal that Talibah had passed word to before their arrival. Their numbers then tripled, they fan out in four prongs to secure different points in the fortress. Those who do not oppose her but have not previously proven their loyalty to Talibah’s quiet resistance are taken straight to the dungeon until their true allegiance can be ascertained. Those who do oppose her are stuck down on the spot. There is no time for forgiveness or wavering. She can tell it makes certain people, mostly the other Lances, uncomfortable, but she can’t let that bother her, because it certainly isn’t bothering Sara.

 

It is not long until Nyssa, Sara, and the team from Star City have taken back the throne room and its infamous, now ruined, Lazarus Pit. The room’s only occupant is the priestess, Al Kahina.

“ _The princess returns_ ,” Al Kahina purrs, trying to appear nonplussed as she stands unarmed and surrounded.

“ _She is the Demon’s Head now_ ,” Sara informs her.

“ _The Beloved has found her voice again. What magic did they work on you, the forever favored Taer al-Asfer?_ ”

“ _That is not your concern_ ,” Nyssa cuts her off. “ _Will you support my place as Demon’s Head or shall the search for a new priestess begin?_ ”

Al Kahina studies her, and Nyssa can see the wheels of her mind working, weighing her options.

“ _You do not have the ring_ ,” Al Kahina muses. “ _You knelt to-_ “

Nyssa’s blade is out of its sheath and at her neck in an instant. Sara is behind the priestess, lighting quick, strong hands on her shoulders, holding her at the mercy of Nyssa’s sword.

“I _honor the League’s traditions, and you along with them,_ ” Nyssa informs her. “ _But I remember, Al Kahina, how you stood idly by as my maddened father let an outsider usurp my rightful place, and how easily you served at the right hand of the Traitor-Usurper who succeeded him. I will respect your position, for as long as you respect mine. Am I clear?_ ”

“ _Yes, Ra’s al Ghul_ ,” Al Kahina hisses and declines her head reverently. Sara releases her, and the priestess takes a knee.

Nyssa sheaths her blade.

“ _Very well. Rise. We have more pressing concerns_.” Nyssa surveys the team. “Let’s secure the fortress. Al Saher will return, and he will not be pleased.”  
  
***  
  
“Fuck,” is all Sara says. 

Talibah made her report from the sentry positions quickly and in Arabic, and the read out from Nanda Parbat’s technological center, the radar, heat sensors, and more, all confirm it. 

“What is it?” Quentin asks, Laurel at his shoulder, trying to get a look at the monitors that have risen from the stone floor of the throne room, much to the outsiders’ surprise. Diggle’s face is pensive. 

“Al Saher has returned. And he is not alone,” Nyssa informs them.

“Those are assault vehicles,” Diggle notes. “Enough for a small army. He got that kinda numbers with him?”

“Not possible,” Nyssa says. “Talibah, between our numbers, the slain, the guests in our dungeons, and the assassins assigned afield, too far to be recalled, how many are unaccounted for?”

“Even if he recalled them from afield, they wouldn’t make up a force that large.”

“Where the hell did Merlyn get an army?” Sara asks. She nearly bounces with angry energy, but she has her arms crossed over chest, feigning relaxation and nonchalance.

“Wait, Felicity said he was in Star City, right?” Laurel says, her mind clearly working something over. “HIVE would have that kind of firepower.”

“HIVE?” Sara questions. 

“Damien Darhk,” Nyssa growls.

“Ohhhhh,” Sara realizes. 

“Why would Darhk join forces with Malcolm Merlyn?” Diggle asks.

“How do we know it **is** Malcolm?” Thea adds.

“Because Darhk would like nothing more than to see the League in ashes,” Nyssa informs them. “But Ms. Queen makes a good point. Perhaps HIVE already took care of our Merlyn problem. Talibah, organize a scouting party. I want eyes on the approaching forces as soon as possible. Just eyes, no engagement. They cannot take those vehicles all the way to our door, so we have time. Report back as soon as possible.”

“ _Yes, Ra’s al Ghul_ ,” Talibah bows briefly and exits. 

“Can we hold this place against an army?” Diggle asks.

“Nanda Parbat is incredibly difficult to take.”

“Even though we just did,” Sara grins cheekily. “Speaking of, we better make sure someone seals the tunnel. Maybe even for good.”

“We should secure every entrance, known and unknown,” Nyssa agrees. “But we are likely in for a siege, and it is our supplies that worry me most.”

“I’ll check the kitchen,” Sara volunteers, needing to move. “We should have enough for at least a week, unless Merlyn’s let this place go to shit. The rest of you should get some rest. We’ve got another fight ahead of us.”

“Wait. We first have some business to attend to.”

Sara stops and turns, confused and a little annoyed. She’s beautiful and dangerous, all barely contained energy and lethal discipline. 

Nyssa is even more sure of what she is about to do.

“Al Kahina,” she calls the priestess over. “The marriage between myself and Al Sahim was never consummated. You will witness that it is null and void?”

“ _It is done_ ,” Al Kahina says, obediently but perhaps a little wearily. Nyssa will need to keep an eye on her.

“Now, Al Kahina, if Taer al-Asfer consents, will you marry us?”

Al Kahina pauses and then nods. “ _As you command, Ra’s al Ghul_.”

“Nyssa, right now?” Sara exclaims. “There’s an army hours from our door!”

“Sara, every moment you were gone, I felt I had been cleaved in two,” Nyssa tells her, not bothered by the audience, though noting Laurel’s slack jawed expression before she locks her eyes with Sara’s. “I know now what I guessed all along: our souls are bound together. That will always be enough for me. But if we are not to succeed in holding Nanda Parbat, I will not have the last, the only, person with whom I have been bound in marriage be Oliver Queen.”

“Well, I get that,” Sara interjects, a bit of a smile starting to pull at the edge of her lips.

“Please. Do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

There is silence in the throne room, and Nyssa watches the way Sara’s face softens and the smile spreads. There’s a flutter in her stomach that is likely highly inappropriate given the fact they’re in the middle of a war, but she can’t bring herself to care or stop the answering grin that she feels blossoming.

“Hell, if you don’t marry her after that, Sara, I will,” Thea pipes up.

“Yeah,” Sara laughs and Nyssa’s heart thrills. “Alright. Let’s do it.”  
  
***

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyone who knows me on tumblr knows that I am staunchly against Nyssara getting married in most scenarios... In this one, though...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating is going up for sexual situations. Possibly/probably just for this chapter.

It is wholly unlike the first time she did this. There is no guard with swords drawn, more coercion then honor, and her father, of course, has fled this world. It’s just Al Kahina, Mr. Diggle and Ms. Queen, and Sara’s beaming sister and confused but still grinning father. There is no aisle or other formalities: there are barbarians **almost** at the gate and much to do before they arrive. They simply join hands in front of Al Kahina, and Nyssa finds herself unable to breathe in the best of ways. 

Sara’s still grinning at her as they join hands. It’s so different than the last time they were face to face in this room, Sara’s soul fled and the monster in her place. Sara’s bright eyes erase the sinking dread of the first time, wipe away her father’s smarmy smirk and Oliver’s blank gaze, fill her mind with hope and her heart with joy. Even if she falls this night in battle, it will be as Sara’s wife, and that is enough. 

“ _You ready?_ ” Sara asks. “ _Remember to breathe_.”

Nyssa tries not to roll her eyes, but it’s an automatic response. 

Al Kahina does not wait for Nyssa’s answer to Sara’s question, just begins the ceremony. Over Sara’s shoulder, the only moment she tears her eyes from Sara’s face, Nyssa sees Diggle lean between Laurel and Quentin, softly translating Al Kahina’s words for them. He is certainly growing on her.

Nyssa does not notice anything outside of Sara’s eyes and smile in the next several minutes, but she must say all the right things, because soon enough, Al Kahina is declaring them wed. Though it isn’t League tradition, Sara then grabs her by the front of her shirt and drags her into an exuberant kiss. Behind her, Thea lets out a jubilant whoop and soon John and Laurel are joining her. Sara smiles against her lips.

Then Laurel is pulling them into her arms, one at a time and then both together, tears in her eyes, telling them how happy she is. Then it is Quentin, kissing each of their cheeks and saying:

“Gotta say I don’t hate this.”

  
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Talibah makes herself known. “ _If I may seek an audience, Ra’s al Ghul, for one moment._ ”

Nyssa looks to Sara, who nods as she gets enveloped by her family once again.

“ _The defenses are steady enough. I’ve ordered them reinforced as can be done. The mounted guns are in working order and reserve ammunition is being brought out. The EMPs are also being prepared_.”

Nyssa nods. The League may prefer things “old school”, as Sara calls it, but it would be naïve to not prepare for modern attacks with modern defenses. 

“ _You have done well, Talibah._ ”

Talibah accepts the praise with a graceful decline of the head. 

“ _If I fall, you must do everything you can to defeat Al Saher._ ”

“ _Of course, Ra’s al Ghul_.”

 _“And once you have killed him, you must take the ring and ascend to my place. It will be difficult; I haven’t had the time to train you, but-_ “

“ _Ra’s al Ghul_ ,” Talibah interrupts, a bit of Mesi showing through. “ _That is not my place. Taer al-Asfer is the better of all but you, and it would be her right as your wife_.”

Nyssa looks to Sara, joking and grinning with her family, and feels a little thrill at the title.

“ _And if that is truly what she desires, then of course you must bow to her. But if I am not here, I do not want her tied here. She must be given the chance to be free_.”

“ _As you wish, Ra’s al Ghul_.”

“ _Very well. We must check our food supplies, and-_ “

“ _I can see to all of that now, as well as make sure that those who climbed the mountain get a spot of rest. You should take some time with your **wife**.” _ Talibah suppresses a smile. _“We would not want this marriage as easily annulled as the first._ ”  
  
***  
  
Talibah does not take no for an answer, even from the Demon’s Head. Within minutes, Nyssa and Sara are in Nyssa’s chambers, pristinely maintained by the fortress staff and untouched by Merlyn’s loyals. (They are in her chambers, not the more luxurious rooms of Ra’s al Ghul, for those will need to be **fumigated** before Nyssa will set foot in them.)

“Sooo…” Sara draws out, bouncing on her toes a little. “We got married.”

“Indeed we did.”

Sara keeps grinning at her, and Nyssa’s stomach flips happily. She has to reach out and touch Sara, remind herself that she is real, and here, and hers. She pulls down Sara’s braids and runs fingers through her golden hair. She lets her palms trace the outline of every inch of her, from the nape of her neck and the lines of her cheekbones to her strong shoulders, soft breasts, and slim hips, drinking her in. Sara stays quiet, for once, watching her with warm eyes, wide and open and full of love. Nyssa feels as if she’ll choke on how much she adores her, feels it fill her lungs and throat, prick her eyes with tears.

“ _I died without you_ ,” Nyssa whispers.

“ _And now we both live again_ ,” Sara replies.

They crash into each other, the tether of their souls’ bond snapping tightly and dragging them together. Lips find each other, then tongues and even teeth in their hastiness to get as close as possible. They tug at their tough leather clothing, previously armor, now a straight jacket, a prison. Only years of experience finally rids them each of it with minimal interruption.

Nyssa finds herself lifted off the ground, a reversal of their usual roles, but she has no complaints. (Sara could do it before, but her newfound strength makes it effortless despite the height difference.) Her back hits the post, and the pain feels almost as good as Sara’s mouth at her breast.

“Sorry,” Sara mumbles against her skin, looking up at her impishly. 

Nyssa practically growls at her, and Sara grins in delight, returning her attention back to the task at hand with single-minded focus. Nyssa leverages them off of the post and onto the bed, and Sara laughs, gloriously laughs to find herself pinned under Nyssa, freckled pale skin, still so jarringly unmarred, a stark contrast to the crimson sheets. Sara squirms, sending a shuddering wave of pleasure all the way to Nyssa’s toes and fingertips, which itch to touch her more. 

“ _If you’d kept at that, this would be over far too quickly_ ,” Nyssa breathes into Sara’s neck, even as Sara catches Nyssa’s roving fingers in hers, threading them. 

“ _I know_ ,” Sara starts to chuckle but it turns into a hummed moan as Nyssa’s mouth finds that one particular spot above her clavicle.

“Sara…”

The lust is as comfortable and familiar as it is thrilling and overpowering. It’s brand new and it’s every time they’ve come together like this. They’re both here in this bed that has been theirs for so long and in that awful safe house in Caracas where they made love for the first time. 

Sara keeps Nyssa’s left hand trapped in hers, and Nyssa pushes down on it as her right hand drifts lower, tracing a well known path that quickens Sara’s breath.

 _“Please,”_ Sara pants.

Though torn between making this last forever and watching Sara fall apart below her as soon as possible, Nyssa spares one final thought to their time constraints and goes for the latter. Her fingers, first one, then two, slip into wet, slick warmth, and she can’t (doesn’t have to) stifle the groan that escapes her at the feeling.

Sara’s hand finds Nyssa’s cheek, brings her eyes up to meet hers.

“ _I love you_ ,” Sara tells her before pulling her into a long, slow kiss as Nyssa begins stroking an easy rhythm that soon draws an incoherent babble of adoration from her wife, their foreheads pressed together. 

It doesn’t take long at all before Sara comes undone with Nyssa’s name on her lips. It’s more overwhelming than Nyssa remembered in the dozens of dreams she’d wake up from, shame-faced and devastated, in the year she survived without Sara. 

As Sara’s breathing returns to normal, she opens her eyes and laughs that perfect, low Sara laugh when she finds Nyssa looking down at her with what must be a very smug smile, because Nyssa certainly is feeling smug. Sara squeezes their still joined hands and says lazily:

“Good to see you’re not rusty.”

The laugh bubbles out of Nyssa unbidden and almost foreign in the last year. It feels dusty and hoarse, but it makes Sara beam at her and then use her distraction to flip her onto her back. She hits the bed with a thrill and finds Sara over her in an instant.

“Your turn.”  
  
***  
  
“ _We laid in this bed and you begged me not to go. I wish I’d listened_ ,” Sara says after, conjuring the last time they lay entwined like this, in these sheets. It hovers over them, but even all the awful tragedy that stretches between this time and that cannot dampen the undeniable joy of this moment, quickly passing though it is. “ _But if I had, and you’d gone instead, maybe Merlyn would’ve killed you_.”

“ _Perhaps, But then my father would have actually given him the justice he deserves. If we focus on the ifs, we’ll be paralyzed by them_.”

“ _My wife is so wise. Must be all the sex_.”

Nyssa laughs again, and it feels stronger, easier than before, practiced in the hour they lost to each other.

 _“I just hate how much everyone hurt because of me. Especially you. Especially with what came after_ ,” Sara switches back to a more sorrowful, gentle voice, and Nyssa wants nothing more than to banish that voice away forever.

“ _We have been given a miracle, and I would live the last year a thousand times as long as every time ended with you back at my side_ ,” Nyssa promises, kissing Sara’s freckle-spattered shoulder. 

“ _Even though I’m something else now_?” Sara asks.

Nyssa pauses, thinking of the scar that used to live where her lips now rest.

“ _Even though you are something **more** now._ ”

“A metahuman?”

“More magic than meta.” Nyssa meets Sara’s eyes. “ _My father sustained himself, made himself stronger, from sips of the Lazarus Pit. For over a century. The effects of a full regeneration have not been seen for generations before him. I know some of the lore, but not all. We will have to research it here in the archives when we’re not…_ ”

“ _Fighting off a massive assault from HIVE?_ ” Sara asks cheekily, and Nyssa marvels at the light returned to her eyes. She puts a hand to Sara’s cheek and says:

“ _See, habibti? You are still you. Your abilities may have been expanded, but the soul that John Constantine retrieved is purely yours, and your soul is what makes you you_.”

“ _And the bloodlust?_ ”

“ _We shall cure it with a knife to Merlyn’s heart or we shall assuage it. Together._ ”

“ _If it’s still there_ ,” Sara says. “ _I didn’t want to kill Thea_.”

“ _I noticed._ ”

“ _So you kill Merlyn if you get first shot._ ”

“ _We’ll do it together,_ ” Nyssa counters.

“ _No_ ,” Sara says, sitting up. Her hair, which is getting longer than Nyssa’s has seen it for some time, falls across her once-scarred shoulder. “ _If you have the first crack at him, you kill him, Nyssa. Promise me. Don’t let him slip away_.”

Nyssa sits up too, arms winding around Sara’s waist.

“ _I promise, Taer al-Asfer_.”

“ _Good. Now let’s clean up, and then you have to fix my hair._ ”

“ _ **I** have to fix your hair?_ ”

“ _Yes. It’s your wifely duty. You’re the one that wanted to do this whole marriage thing,_ ” Sara says matter-of-factly, twisting around to kiss Nyssa on the cheek. 

Nyssa can feel her own laughter all the way down in her toes.

 

***

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg y'all, I wrote smut. Maybe my first?


	14. Chapter 14

Away from the exhilaration of the impromptu wedding and the peace of the two hour honeymoon, Sara’s begun to feel… testy. Surrounded by too many people when she could still be locked away alone with Nyssa. They have reclaimed Nanda Parbat, Nyssa is now Ra’s al Ghul, and yet the casualness with which her Star City contingent treats Nyssa only reminds Sara of how poorly Nyssa was treated, by **everyone** , when Sara was, well, dead.

It starts with a discussion of strategy. Nyssa gives her thoughts and Laurel…

“I disagree.”

“Oh, like you disagreed with her when you put me in the Pit against her wishes?” Sara snaps at her sister.

Laurel gapes a moment and then shoots back: “You’re alive because I disagreed with her.”

“Only because Oliver happened to know someone capable of retrieving souls.”

“Sara,” Nyssa tries to intervene.

“She’s the Demon’s Head. She’s in charge. There’s no disagreeing with her.”

“Laurel may voice her concerns, but perhaps you two should first take a moment alone to discuss what’s really going on here.”

Sara nods once, curtly, and heads in the direction Nyssa gestured.

“ **How could you**?” she demands once they’re in the hallway.

“Sara, I.”

“How could you do that to her? When she asked you not to, didn’t you think that maybe she would know how **I** felt about it? The life we lead, the position I was in. You don’t think it had come up before? I made her **promise not to**.”

“I needed you,” Laurel argues, eyes wet with tears.

“So did she! Didn’t **that** tell you something? She needed me and she still wouldn’t do it!”

“I couldn’t, I didn’t think…”

The torch brace bears the brunt of Sara’s anger. She wrenches it from the stone wall and chucks it down the hall.

She regrets it immediately. There is genuine fear on Laurel’s face and it gut-punches Sara. She closes her eyes and remembers, as best as she can, the League’s basic mediation tenets. Rage is an assassin’s enemy. It is messy and dangerous.

“I’m sorry.” She opens her eyes and continues more calmly: “ **None** of you ever thought about her. Even you, who really knew her by then, who gave her a true friend when she needed it most. You didn’t think about her. You didn’t think about us, her and me. And you basically ignored by big honking DNR: Do Not Resurrect.”

Laurel closes her eyes and gives a sad laugh at Sara’s dumbass joke.

“I know, Sara. I was so lost without you.”

“How? How **lost**? Look at you! You stayed sober and you became the freaking Black Canary. You kept going. You found a purpose. That is the **opposite** of lost.”

Laurel opens her eyes, color in her cheeks.

“Why do you still see that in me? You’re so angry at me that you just ruined Nyssa’s interior decorating. Though… I guess it’s yours too, now.”

“Is that how marriage works, Attorney Lance?” Sara smirks. “And being mad as hell at you doesn’t make me love you less, and it doesn’t make me oblivious to the fact that you were doing more than **surviving** without me.”

Laurel puts a hand to Sara’s cheek. 

“Holy crap. You’re married.”

Sara gives her a small smile and steps back, and Laurel continues:

“I can’t apologize for something I don’t regret, Sara. You’re here and you’re whole, and yes, you can now rip things off walls, but that’s pretty cool, right?”

“And without Constantine? If I were still a soulless monster terrorizing the streets of Starling City, slowly killing Nyssa? Or if Nyssa had to put me down? That would have destroyed her.”

“I wouldn’t - “ Laurel protests.

“You wouldn’t let that happen? You’d what… Do it yourself? No, Laurel, you wouldn’t. You’d let Oliver do it.”

Laurel swallows that, doesn’t argue against it.

“You’re **not** , Sara. You’re you.”

“But what if I wasn’t? None of you knew the soul thing could be done. Nyssa **knew** what I’d become; she was trying to keep a promise to me.”

“I’m sorry for how I treated her, Sara, I am. But I’m not sorry you’re back. You’re my sister and I love you. And I need you.”

“I love you, too. But I’m still angry. Not, wreck my castle, angry. But angry.”

“That’s okay. You have every right.” Laurel pauses and snorts. “ **Your castle**.”

“That’s what you said! What’s hers is mine, right?”

“You are the worst. Can we go deal with the barbarians at the gate? I promise I will defer to your **wife** ; I was just offering my perspective.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Now go pick up that torch. You might be the Queen of Nanda Parbat now, but I’m still your big sister.”  
  
***  
  
The EMPs strand the vehicles in the valley. The HIVE Ghosts use them as cover and shell Nanda Parbat in the pauses from the fortress-temple’s own batteries. This goes on, at longer intervals as both sides seek to conserve ammunition, for three and a half days.

Sara is figuratively climbing the walls when she is not literally climbing them. 

In those three and a half days, they learn that Quentin is an incredibly good shot with very big guns, Thea can hit a scout with an arrow, through the armor, at a very impressive distance, Dig tells a campfire story good enough to entertain the ladies of the League, and Laurel and Talibah are sudden, secret BFFs. There are a few scouting mission skirmishes, led on the League side by Taer al-Asfer, wife of the Demon’s Head, and they’re basically the only thing keeping her from going stir crazy.

“They’ve got one advantage,” Dig says, in Day Four’s afternoon briefing. There’s a scatter of gunfire from the outside video feeds that otherwise wouldn’t penetrate the depths of Nanda Parbat’s heart.

“And what is that?” Nyssa asks. She should look small, Sara thinks, in her father’s big robes, but she fills them with her presence and her power.

“Reinforcements,” Dig says. “They could get them at any point. We’ve got our small contingent up here.” He gestures to their secondary position, manned by Nyssa’s loyalists who have returned to Nanda Parbat since the siege began. “But that’s not gonna be much help against another whole army.”

“Of course. They provide a good position in the rear, but they cannot reinforce Nanda Parbat. And if HIVE has not yet been reinforced, they will be soon.”

“Does that mean we get to actually take the fight to them?” Sara asks, uncrossing her arms and taking her usual position at Nyssa’s side.

“I’m loathe to give up the strong position of the fortress.”

“Me either,” Dig agrees, in full soldier mode. Sara even caught him calling Nyssa “sir” the other day. “But a man to man fight favors the League.” He pauses and acknowledges the large gender imbalance in the room: “Pardon the expression.” 

He and her dad are two of only eight men not in chains in all of Nanda Parbat.

“Exactly. Our secondary force could simultaneously attack their rear, dividing their attention.”

“We should send a final EMP before our attack,” Laurel speaks up. In case they’ve made any headway on repairs.”

Nyssa nods thoughtfully.

“We await your command, Ra’s al Ghul,” Talibah says. “When shall we attack?”

“Night has always been the League’s ally. An hour after sunset, we shall drive them out of our valley.”  
  
***  
  
“ _If I die-_ “

“ _Shut up; you’re not gonna die_ ,” Sara dismisses, continuing to work on her house of cards, crosslegged on the floor of their quarters.

“ _Did you just tell me to shut up_?”

“ _You’re not gonna die_ ,” Sara says, not looking up.

“ _My point is, unless you would like to assert a claim, I’ve named Talibah as my Heir. She has strict orders to find and finish off Al Saher and to release you, if that is your desire. I think she’ll prove most capable_.”

Sara finally does look up.

“ _Does this mean we have to adopt Talibah_?”

“ _Habibti_ ,” Nyssa groans.

“ _I don’t want to run the League, probably. Talibah will make a great Heir. But you’re not going to die_.”

“ _I’m simply being prepared_.”

“Got it. I do think Talibah’s a little old to call me mom.”

“Sara!”

Sara chuckles and stands, stepping away from her fairly tall construction. She slides into Nyssa’s arms, kissing her cheek. 

“ _Why are you so tense? We’re about to go kick some ass_.”

 _“Focusing on what happens if I fall in battle is easier than thinking of what will happen if you do_ ,” Nyssa admits, letting her forehead rest against Sara’s. 

“ _Nyssa… I’m not gonna die either. First of all, we’re not even sure I can. Secondly, been there, done that. Third, you haven’t even taken me on a proper honeymoon. I demand a white sand beach_.”

“ _Well that last one is certainly a solid guarantee of your survival. I know how you are about your beaches_.”

Sara grins and kisses her.

“ _Suit up_.” She pauses. “ _If it pleases Ra’s al Ghul_.”  
  
***

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

“Okay. I’ve got two daughters right now,” Quentin is saying, “I want two when this is all over, okay?”

“Three,” Sara says absently, kissing his cheek. “You have three, technically.”

“Three then,” he agrees gruffly, nodding to Nyssa. “And I want **three** at the end of this.”

“You got it, Dad,” Sara says, pulling up her League-standard hood and nudging Laurel.

“Not a problem,” Laurel promises. “Now get up on that gun and give us some cover fire.”

Quentin gives them one last look, his heart so obviously in his throat. Then he nods and heads up to the gunner’s position he’s been assigned. 

“Don’t die, sis,” Sara says.

“You either. **Again**.”

Sara grins and hugs her sister.

“Take good care of my wife.”

“I will,” Laurel rolls her eyes. “Watch Dig’s back.”

“Of course. He’s got a Sara to get home to.”

Laurel pulls on her gloves and glances between Sara and Nyssa.

“I’ll give you two a moment of marital PDA. See you at the west gate, Nyssa.”

Nyssa nods in acknowledgment.

“Love you,” Sara calls after her, a sentiment Laurel returns.

 _“Laurel calls you the Queen of Nanda Parbat_ ,” Nyssa notes wryly as they stand face to face, memorizing every inch of each other.

“ _I’m not opposed to the title_.”

“ _Of course you aren’t. White sand beach?_ ”

“ _White sand beach. And a brand new bikini._ ”

“ _I promise,_ ” Nyssa smiles.

They fall together in a heated kiss, Nyssa’s hands grasping at Sara’s hips, Sara’s hands at the nape of Nyssa’s neck. It’s over as soon as it starts, their hands clasped between them.

“ _I’ll see you on the battlefield, Taer al-Asfer._ ”

“ _As my Ra’s commands_ ,” Sara replies, kissing Nyssa’s knuckles, eyes still locked on Nyssa’s, and then she is gone.

“ _Be safe, habibti_ ,” Nyssa whispers to the empty room.  
  
***  
  
“Ra’s al Ghul’s little girl has more tricks than I was expecting,” Damien Darhk comments casually, but Merlyn detects the threat in it.

Nyssa **had** taken Nanda Parbat faster and with fewer casualties than he anticipated, and so their forces arrived too late to stop a breach in progress or to shore up a friendly Nanda Parbat. Instead they faced a fully occupied and heavily defended fortress with harrying scouting parties lead by a re-souled, Pit-raised Sara Lance. A nearly four day siege was not what any of them had expected, but any time the HIVE troops get close to fixing their radios or vehicles to call for reinforcements, another EMP undoes all progress. **How** had Merlyn missed the fact they had an EMP?

As if on cue, just as the main radio begins to crackle into life in the cold night, everything falls dead as the thump of another EMP passes over the valley. Damien gives Merlyn another cold look.

“I’m hiking out of this gods-forsaken valley in the morning. My men will stay to bring me the Pit Spawn, but I’m not wasting any more time on this. I’ll send some reinforcements. I wish you could fly some fucking helicopters closer to this place.”

“They can’t hold out forever,” Merlyn says. “Soon enough, I’ll have one dead League princess and you’ll have her Beloved Sara Lance.”

“And you’ll have one helluva broken League to put back together,” Damien replies.

That’s when the big gunfire starts, from the walls of Nanda Parbat, all batteries open, the precursor to a-

“Sounds like your smart little princess figured the same thing out. They can’t hold out forever. So they’re not holding out.”

Machine gun fire then, from the rear of the HIVE encampment.

“Are any of those assassins loyal to you at all?” Damien demands angrily. “Go kill Nyssa al Ghul, and let’s get this over with.”  
  
***  
  
The battlefield is chaotic and bloody, and Sara seems to be loving it. If he weren’t so busy trying not to die, Dig might even be enjoying the show. 

Fighting alongside a dude who happens to be freakishly good with a bow is a very different experience from fighting at the side of a woman with magically enhanced stamina and strength in addition to lethal training, who can bend machine guns and pick up HIVE soldiers and throw them into each other. 

That’s his personal favorite, and it seems to be one of hers, too. Dig and the two assassins assigned to Sara’s small unit are pretty much just there to watch her six, which is a job unto itself, since these HIVE guys, like idiots, just keep coming towards her in waves, when the smart move would clearly be to run away.

Really, really far away.

Dig shoots the ghost coming up behind Sara in the head, and it’s honestly a mercy, given that Sara just threw her guy up against a rock and turned around and stabbed another with her bo. 

But they still keep coming. Then Al Jaras, on Sara’s other flank, takes a bullet in the neck. Dig rushes to field dress it, ‘cause she’s still breathing. Yaraea holds off the wave admirably, but the swarm, pardon the phrase, only grows. Four HIVE soldiers with two grenade launchers drop and take aim at Sara, and Dig’s stomach bottoms out. 

“Sara!” he yells, but it’s too late. The men get their shots off before arrows hit them in the necks. 

But they aren’t grenades. 

They’re nets.  
  
***  
tbc


	16. Chapter 16

Laurel watches in slow motion horror as the electrified nets close around her sister. She is at Nyssa’s side, with Thea and Talibah, fighting on an elevated outcropping of rock. It gives them a near perfect view of the events unfolding below, but they are too far to intervene.

  
She is sure that Sara, her newfound powers strongest when fueled by rage and bloodlust, will break free of the nets, but struggle as she might, it doesn’t happen. Dig’s position near Sara is quickly swarming with ghosts, cutting off Sara’s back up. In fact, every ghost is converging on that point, abandoning ongoing skirmishes and retreating, dragging Sara with them.

Nyssa’s arrows tear into several of their backs, but there are still too many, and Merlyn’s men are still waging the battle, despite the confusion of the ghosts’ sudden retreat. Laurel knows the exact moment when Nyssa realizes that they won’t, that no one will, get to Sara in time.

_**“Sara!”** _

The anguish in Nyssa’s voice cuts across the entire valley, reverberating through Laurel and echoing her own grief.

 Laurel drops to her knees, and Talibah boldly grabs her Ra’s by the shoulders. 

“ _We must finish the battle_ ,” she is saying. _“Victory is at hand_.”

But then, before anyone can react further, Thea spots Merlyn on the battlefield below, and all hell breaks loose.  
  
***  
  
Merlyn’s first mistake was to imprison Sara Lance and Nyssa al Ghul anywhere close to each other.

Merlyn’s second mistake was trusting Darhk, even just a little bit. 

Ever the opportunist, it appears that Damien has won his prize and is abandoning the field of battle as quickly as they lack of vehicles will allow.

Then, Malcolm hears a Hum-vee or two roar into life, and he thinks maybe he is saved. But the gunfire, small and large, does not resume, apart from the occasional scuffle of retreat. HIVE does not fire on the fortress, and Nanda Parbat dare not fire on HIVE’s forces with the captive Beloved in their midst. 

The HIVE forces drive away.

Fuck Damien Darhk. 

The little princess’s forces, enraged by the consort’s capture, are overwhelming him. One by one, his men are falling. He begins to plan his own escape.

But, Merlyn’s final mistake is thinking Thea gives a shit about him.

From the smoky, muddy, bloody chaos of the battlefield, Thea emerges, bow on her back and a bloody sword in each hand.

“Thea! Thank god. Get me out of here. We can-”

She does not respond. She steps in close, looks him in the eye, and slides her sword into his gut.

Malcolm stammers as he falls to his knees, his free hand covering his wound. 

Lethal, maybe. But it’s going to take a while.

Thea yanks the bow and quiver off his back, kicks his sword out of his hand.

She leans over him.

“Thank you,” she says. “You made me strong enough to do that.”

“I’m… your father.”

“You’re a monster,” she snarls. “I’d finish it now,” she says, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back so he can see the approaching trio of dark clad figures. “But that honor belongs to Ra’s al Ghul alone.”  
Malcolm’s long list of mistakes has brought him full circle at last, and he will leave the League for good the same way he joined it: eye to eye with the ever impressive Nyssa al Ghul.  
  
***  
  
When Thea Queen had leapt from the outcropping with a hunter’s lethal focus on Malcolm Merlyn, dropping anyone who stood between her and her quarry, it had brought Nyssa back to the now from the long fall into grief.   
It pulled her from that morning of the empty bed, from that warehouse where venom flared in Sara’s eyes, from that basement lair of Oliver Queen, her fears confirmed. She has lost Sara so many times.

But she has always gotten her back.

And Talibah is right: they have a battle to win. 

“She is strong,” Nyssa tells Laurel, helping her to her feet. “And they took her alive, which means they will keep her that way. We will get to her, no matter where they take her.”

Laurel nods, a little shell-shocked.

“Until then, we must focus on justice, and Malcolm Merlyn must die. Come.”

Laurel and Talibah flanking her, her loyal assassins clearing a path, Nyssa follows Thea’s wake of destruction to find a prostrate and bleeding Al Saher waiting for her. He is wounded but breathing, and Thea offers one of her swords and bows her head deferentially. 

“I present the traitor to you for your justice, my Demon,” Thea says.

Nyssa files away her surprise that the younger Queen has learned enough of their ways to perform this duty admirably. She briefly considers giving her the honor. Having been denied her right to end her own tormenting father, she knows the sacrifice Thea is making.

But Nyssa must swing the sword herself, to finally and completely secure her right to the title and power of The Demon. 

(Surveying Al Saher’s wound, it is quite possible that Thea has, in fact, already dealt Merlyn his lethal blow, and so perhaps, in this way, they will both get what they needed.)

Nyssa takes Thea’s blade and gestures for two assassins to hold the defeated usurper in position.

_“Malcolm Merlyn, formerly Al Saher, declared a traitor by the last true Ra’s al Ghul, usurper and pretender to the throne, you are hereby sentenced to death by beheading. Your spirit is commended to the Demon for judgment. May you never find peace. May your torment be eternal. And may you find as little mercy at the Demon’s feet as you shall at mine.”_

His eyes are defiant, but she sees the fear the defiance tries to hide. The snake has always slithered his way out of such things, but betrayal by his own blood - it has stunned even him. He is out of options. He is already dead. So maybe she was wrong. Maybe when she swings her blade down, hard, fast, fluid, she is delivering a mercy. 

Nyssa looks down at the severed head at her feet, the blood spattered on her boots, on Thea’s, and finds she doesn’t care either way. This battle must end, and with it, this civil war. For there is another war to win, a war just beginning.

“ _Kill the rest,_ ” Nyssa orders the gathered assassins. _“There will be no mercy for those who took up arms against the true Ra’s al Ghul.”_  
  
***

tbc


	17. Chapter 17

  
Nyssa looks around the throne room, full of the entirety of her forces not in emergent need of medical care. It is a formidable force still, and Nyssa assumes they will add to their numbers with some of those in the dungeon. 

Quentin has not taken the news of Sara well, but he has taken it better than Nyssa had feared. Laurel is still shell-shocked. John Diggle will not stop apologizing. Talibah and Thea will not leave her side. And Nyssa **needs** Sara.

Nyssa steps in front of her throne, and the whole room snaps to attention.

_“We have won a battle, but we are not done. Tonight you shall rest and eat and heal. Tomorrow we begin our new mission: we shall retrieve Taer al-Asfer and burn HIVE to the ground.”_

They chorus out an acknowledgment of the order with as much gusto as League training will allow, and she dismisses them.

  
Talibah and the Star City contingent remain behind. Nyssa cannot handle another John Diggle apology, so instead she orders, gently:

“Please see the Lances to their quarters and make sure they have everything they need.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he nods.

“And thank you, Mr. Diggle, for saving the life of Al Jaras.”

He nods again in acknowledgment and moves in his firm but kind way to take care of Quentin and Laurel. She is grateful for that, because that is something else she cannot muster the energy to take care of. 

A man of his caliber is wasted in the service of Oliver Queen. 

Nyssa turns to Talibah. 

“ _Please have another room prepared for me,_ ” she requests, unable to stand the thought of spending the night in their marital bed, in quarters so infused with memories of Sara.

“ _Of course, Ra’s al Ghul,”_ Talibah excuses herself. 

Sara can take care of herself, Nyssa repeats in her head. She is more capable than ever: resilient, strong, and possibly immortal. They will discover her location (Star City seems a likely destination) and rescue her as quickly as possible. If she even needs a rescue! Who knows what her wife can do now.

Her wife.

Nyssa now realizes she is alone with Thea Queen.

“You may also retire to your quarters,” she allows/orders.

“As you command, Ra’s al Ghul,” Thea half-bows, a little awkwardly. 

“How are you?” Nyssa asks.

Thea flushes, not expecting the question, it seems. The Lance sisters are quite fond of the younger Queen, and apart from Thea’s brother, Nyssa finds them quite able judges of character. So, she takes an interest.

“I’m… fine.”

“You may be truthful with me,” Nyssa chuckles, hands resting lightly at the small of her back. 

“I feel… free. I feel peaceful. But I think that’s just the bloodlust talking. It’s been sated enough today for a good few weeks, at least.”

“Indeed. And Malcolm Merlyn?”

“Thank god he is dead.”

“A feeling I know well. You seem to be fitting in well here. I am grateful to have you fighting at my side. You may return to Star City now, however, if that is your wish.”

“Only if we’re going there to hurt Damien Darhk,” Thea practically growls. 

“And then?”

“I hear there’s a test, and if I pass, I can take the oath.”

“The oath?” Nyssa raises an eyebrow. 

“To you. To the League.”

Nyssa closes her eyes. She may have to kill Oliver Queen after all. 

“That is a decision not made lightly,” Nyssa begins to pace. “I will not accept such a pledge in the afterglow of a battle. But you would be an asset once your training is complete, and I think you may find our way of life would suit you well in your current state.”

“Exactly! You can teach me to control it, right?”

“Perhaps, but you need not join us in order for me to teach you the basics of control. And I would, as Ra’s al Ghul, order you to take human lives, something you have refused to do in the past.”

“If I don’t take human lives, I’ll die. I took nearly two dozen this week. At least with the League, I would do it for a purpose. And away from the judgment of Oliver.”

“Ah.” Yes, she is going to almost certainly have to kill Oliver Queen. Or at least finally show him how easily she can defeat him in battle. “I will consider your request to be weighed and proven worthy, but I will not accept your oath only for your infernal brother to come storming in here with some ill-advised rescue attempt. Talk to Laurel, talk to Oliver, talk to Sara. And if you then come to me, having made peace with them and with yourself… you would honor me with your fealty.”

Thea looks disappointed, but she nods and squares her shoulders. Nyssa remains impressed with her steel. 

“As you command, Ra’s al Ghul.”

“Your blow would have killed Al Saher,” Nyssa says, testing that mettle. “How does that feel?”

“Like justice. And relief. And like I killed half the family I have left. And…”

“And?”

“Like I barely recognize myself in the mirror. And if I can commit myself to the League, the part of me that is like him can be controlled.”

“The League can ably rebuild you, Thea Queen, but at a great, lifelong price. You must decide if that path is the one you wish to walk, and if that price is one you are willing to pay.”  
  
***  
  


Nyssa sinks to a seat on the bed in some anonymous quarters. She thinks of Sara, finally, for more than a few seconds. 

She allows herself to sob, finally freeing the pain and grief that had almost torn her apart on that battlefield. It doubles her over, and she lets it come, wave after wave, until sleep claims her. It’s the only indulgence to the agony and fear that her duty to the League, **to Sara** , allows her, and in the morning, she will wake with renewed determination to free Sara and make her captors pay. 

Tonight, though, she will dream of blue eyes, a mischievous grin, and an embrace she hasn’t even had enough time to learn to stop missing. 

Tonight, though, she will wrestle with the guilt of letting her ambition put her in a position to lose Sara all over again.

  
***

tbc


	18. Chapter 18

“I’d heard rumors of you. The lethal blonde consort to Ra’s al Ghul’s Warrior Princess.”

Sara offers no reply.

“His daughters were always his greatest weakness. Though I guess ultimately it was turning his back on one that brought his end. And for Oliver Queen, no less!” Damien chuckles. “The Pit really did eat his brain. But not yours, no.” 

He looks her over. 

“Tell me about Nyssa. I already know you’re her greatest weakness. What else is there?”

Sara smiles, lethal, deadly. Chains on her wrists and ankles, wrapped around her waist, hold her upright but spread eagle in a nondescript cell. 

“You can’t beat her.”

Damien grins back.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you definitely can.”

“Good luck with that.”

His smile widens.

“You do not disappoint, Sara Lance. And you are way more exciting than the rest of your family.”

“Every family’s gotta have a black sheep.”

“Even one with a Black Canary,” Damien says knowingly.

Sara does not bother to give him a response.

He extends a glass of water to her. 

She shrugs as best she can and rattles her chains. 

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

He steps in close, holding it to her lips. 

“No thanks.”

He grabs her hair and yanks her head back, attempting to pour the liquid down her throat. She wrenches her head forward and slams it into his nose, hard. As he recoils, she spits the liquid into his face.  
Instinctively, he reaches forward, fingertips to her sternum. He must expect something that doesn’t happen. He tries again, white light emerging, quickly absorbed by Sara’s chest.

It barely tickles.

“Performance issues?” Sara cracks.

Damien recovers, and his eyes narrow.

“You have to get thirsty some time.”

“Do I?” she asks, honestly. She hasn’t even begun to test the limits of her restored body. “You can let me go whenever you want. I can find my way home.”

“I’m sure you can. Your mistress is calling you to heel.” He surveys her. “Thirst will undo you, either for drink or for blood. And then you will heel for me.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”  
  


***

  
“I learned something very interesting today,” Damien says conversationally, although his eyes are as calculating as ever. 

He pauses, waits for her to engage, and she doesn’t give him the pleasure. It’s an old song and dance now. Sara doesn’t even shift position, just watches him from behind a curtain of dirty blonde hair. She is still shackled, arms stretched across the cell. It should be a painful, eventually lethal, position, her tendons should be strained or breaking, her lungs struggling, but she barely registers anything more than discomfort and annoyance. Her wrists are pink but not raw, because she has barely fought the bonds. Just waited and watched, coiled, ready to strike, but never willing to tip her hand. 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “If you won’t be polite, I’ll just tell you. I learned that you’re not just the **consort** to the newest Ra’s al Ghul… You’re her **wife**.”

Sara swallows the boiling rage, barely lets it twitch across her face. 

He sighs.

“I bet you were more fun when you were feral.”

She bares her teeth.

He laughs. 

“I’m so looking forward to working together. I’m going to enjoy watching you kill her.”

  
***  
  
“How long have you loved her?” Damien asks.

He is back, again, on his quest to break her with inane chatter.

“Since the moment I saw her.”

Sara still remembers it, water in her lungs, ravaged by sun and surf, a dark avenging angel swimming before her eyes. She loved her then as the saved loves their savior, but it became so much more, a bond literally tethering her to this earth. 

“Yeah, I hear she’s quite a looker,” he prods.

He is too smart to get close anymore. He remembers the damage she can do, how powerless he is to control her. 

Sara does not respond.

“How long has it been since you had a drink?” he asks again.

“Not long enough.”  
  


***  
  
“Your wife is in Star City.”

Sara could break her chains, if she wanted. She would, if there weren’t hundreds of AK-47s between her and the door. She has never wanted to more than now.

“Do you want to go to her?”

The rage is back; it happily licks at her fingertips, boils in her blood. She welcomes it, but does not let it take control.

Damien smiles his stupid smile at her.

“Take the pill, and you can go to her.”

“ _You’re getting desperate. That’s okay. You should be scared._ ”

The Arabic throws him, but he recovers and scoffs: “Of Ra’s al Ghul’s little princess?”

“ _Of Ra’s al Ghul._ ”

Damien turns away.

“ _You fought Ra’s al Ghul before, Damien,_ ” Sara muses idly, shaking hair out of her eyes and slowly stretching her wrists and shoulders, trying to let the rage siphon off slowly. “ _How did that turn out for you?_ ”  
  
***  
  
At first, he drains them, one by one, as if this show of his magical might will somehow sway her. Tiring of this, or in search of a different theme, he executes them, double-tap to the back of the head, down on their knees. 

Whether this display is meant to threaten her or tempt her, it does neither.

Ghost after ghost, dead on the floor, and Sara will happily accept each sacrifice, rather than take that pill or drink that spiked water, rather than give Damien Darhk power over her and therefore control over whatever ability now courses through her veins.

Fourteen corpses on the ground, blood spattering her face, she is bored and angry, so angry, and yes, perhaps the bloodlust has begun to churn, just a little, in her belly, but she has lived with the rage for long enough, especially here, locked away and unable to release it, that she has found some peace with it.

He thinks she is like Ollie, squeamish about lives lost, but what does she care if he destroys his zombies? She is League of Assassins - she understands sacrifice for the greater good, and her line in the sand of “innocent” lives is way further down the moral road than poor chumps duped into taking Damien Darhk’s mind control meds.

“A little darker than your do-gooder family, I see,” he keeps his voice level, calm. Killing doesn’t mean much to him, either.  “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to play this card, yet.”

Sara squares her shoulders, rolls her wrists, looks thoroughly unimpressed. 

“I should have known. Ra’s al Ghul’s wife doesn’t get squeamish at the sight of a few measly deaths. That’s practically foreplay, right?”

Sara shrugs. 

“What if I told you I had a nuclear missile pointed right at Star City?”

“I’d probably ask for proof,” Sara bravados, but a sick feeling grows in her stomach. Her conscience redoes the math. 

“It could be here in thirty minutes, with just the touch of a button.” He beckons one of the living ghosts over, the brain-washed man steps over the corpses of his compatriots, unfazed, unfeeling, unseeing. 

The ghost brings a laptop. She asked for proof, and he gives her proof.

It could be a trick. It could not.

Her mind races, and for all the agility and speed her body has acquired, her mind has not been equally blessed. Besides, she's just a soldier. These were never her decisions. They were Nyssa's.   
Nyssa.

Nyssa who is in Star City, in the path of a nuclear bomb which may or may not exist (along with her family, her friends, hundreds of thousands of innocent lives). 

Nyssa who Damien would aim Sara straight towards if he took control of her.

Her wife.

"Which is it going to be, Sara?"

Remote control in one hand. Pill in the other. A ghost loosens the chains on her right hand, just a little. 

Sara looks Damien Darhk in the eye.

And she takes the pill.  
  
***

tbc


	19. Chapter 19

“No need to tiptoe, Ms. Smoak. I have read the reports.”

Felicity emerges from the shadows of Verdant’s basement, once the “Arrow Lair”, now Nyssa’s base of operations.

“I mean, a blonde with super strength working with the ghosts? That could be anyone, right?” Felicity nervously quips.

Nyssa gives a slight chuckle for her. She doesn’t feel jovial, but Felicity Smoak’s anxious humor is somehow infectious. 

“HIVE has already proven that it is possible to capture Sara alive. Once we have her, we will deprogram whatever they have done to her.”

Felicity smiles with sympathy.

“Congrats, by the way. On the marriage thing.”

Nyssa lets out a humorless snort, fighting back the tears that threaten to fill her eyes. She doesn’t know the woman well enough for that. 

“Thank you. I am sure you are as relieved as I am that I am no longer bound to Oliver Queen in matrimony.”

Felicity blushes.

“I’m not **not** pleased.”

Nyssa nods and returns to sharpening her blade.

“Laurel doesn’t look so good.”

“Mmn,” Nyssa agrees. “Her first taste of the battlefield has taken its toll. I have full faith she will recover. She comported herself well.”

“And Thea seems… Less stabby.”

“Her blood lust is at least temporarily sated.” Nyssa pauses, looking up at the other woman. “Why are you here, Felicity Smoak? Is Oliver Queen uncomfortable with our operation in ‘his’ city?”

“Oliver is uncomfortable about a lot of things,” Felicity answers. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He and Thea are having dinner tonight.”

“I see.”

“I know you aren’t Oliver’s biggest fan, and I get that, but it seems like we should be pooling resources. No reason to fight on two fronts.”

“I acknowledge we could work together, but I will not take orders from your self-righteous lover.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I’m also not convinced that Oliver Queen **should** be involved. He did not fare well in his last encounter with Sara, and we do not know what she may do to him this time.”

“I’ll pass on your concern.”

“It is not concern for him, but for Sara’s conscience.”

“Right.”

“We may at least share intelligence, however. Connect with Talibah to coordinate.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Felicity seems to feel the natural conclusion to their conversation, heading for the stairs. Nyssa returns to the task at hand. Felicity pauses up a step.

“Nyssa? We’re going to get her back. We’re going to figure it out.”

Nyssa does not look up from her blade.

“I have done my best not to think of the alternative, Ms. Smoak.”  
  
***  
  
“You all know the rules of engagement. You may eliminate any HIVE agent you encounter, but no avoidable civilian casualties. We are attempting to undo the chaos HIVE is creating, not contribute to it. And no one is to engage Taer al Asfer.”

She will not add any more blood to Sara’s conscience, especially not that of the assassins under her command. Under Sara’s command.

“Goodnight, and good hunting,” Nyssa dismisses them, leaving Talibah, the Lances, John Diggle, and Thea Queen. Nyssa had tried to insist that Laurel sit this one out, but Laurel wanted to help, so Nyssa must count on the rest of the Star City contingent to support her. She does look better; the battles of the siege of Nanda Parbat had proven, in stark detail, the vast chasm between soldier and vigilante, but Laurel is strong.

“Have you managed to reproduce what they used to capture her initially?”

“Yes, Ra’s al Ghul,” Talibah answers dutifully.

Nyssa feels uncomfortable, trapping her wife like an animal, and with that discomfort, comes a sickening sense of deja vu.

Quentin echoes her thoughts.

“What are we dealing with here? Did he take her soul?”

“Talibah?” Nyssa looks to her Heir.

“Our intelligence does not report any of the uncontrolled bloodlust or berserker behavior that happened before Taer al Asfer’s encounter with John Constantine. There have been casualties, yes, but on command. I conclude that Taer al Asfer’s soul remains intact.”

“I must concur. If Sara’s soul were removed again, even if she could survive such an act, Damien Darhk would be unable to control her. All reports are that she operates with HIVE, not let loose upon the populace," Nyssa says.

“But why would Sara follow Damien Darhk’s orders?” Laurel asks, arms crossed over her chest.

“HIVE is rumored to control the ‘ghosts’, as it were, by some kind of brainwashing. Darhk must have been able to extend such control to Sara.”

“Makes sense,” Diggle nods. “Is it reversible?”

“That is a bridge we must cross if we get there,” Nyssa concedes. 

“When,” Laurel corrects. 

“When,” Nyssa agrees. 

“If Sara’s under Darhk’s control, I gotta express some concern about you going out on patrol. There’s a short list of targets Darhk would be aiming her at.”

“Me,” Nyssa says.

“Yeah,” Dig replies easily. 

“And Ollie,” Thea speaks up.

Nyssa buries her automatic indifference and says:

“Yes, your brother is another likely target. I see my place on your list, Mr. Diggle, as an advantage in the field. Hopefully we will be able to collect Sara quickly if it is she who finds us.”

“So you’re bait,” Quentin says matter-of-factly.

“Exactly. I can handle myself.”

“Respectfully, I don’t think any one person can handle themselves against Sara anymore,” Diggle says.

“Then it is a good thing I will not be alone, no?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Diggle defers.

“Alright, let us-“

“Ra’s al Ghul,” an assassin interrupts.

Talibah stops the middle-aged woman and takes the message. The Heir looks cautiously around the room before reporting:

“Felicity Smoak is here to see you. With Al Sahim.”

Nyssa watches as the rest of the room tenses. She chooses her next words carefully.

“Oliver Queen has renounced the League, and therefore no longer has claim to the name Al Sahim.”

“My apologies,” Talibah bows. “With Oliver Queen.”

“See them in,” Nyssa commands. “But warn them that I only have two minutes for them, no more.”  
  
***  
  
“Why are you here?”

The question is directed at Oliver Queen. She knows why Felicity Smoak is there.

“I am here to help. At **your** command, Ra’s al Ghul.”

“I see. And what assurance do I have that you harbor no secret agenda? That you will follow my commands, regardless of how you may feel about them?”

“I want HIVE out of my city. You have an army and the motivation to get Darhk out.”

“By my count, this is the second time the League has ‘saved’ your city for you. Is that correct?”

Oliver pauses, and Felicity elbows him.

“Yes. Ra’s al Ghul,” he finally says.

“I still hear no assurance that you will follow my commands.”

“I…” he steps closer to Nyssa. Talibah steps between them, and Thea looks ready to jump out of her skin. “I owe you.”

“What was that?”

“I owe you,” Oliver repeats, louder. “I… I should have trusted you, this spring, with your father. With Merlyn. It wasn’t right.”

“And what has lead to this change of heart?”

Oliver looks at Felicity, revealing much, but says instead:

“Your wife has a mean right hook, and a lot of good points.”

“I see. Very well. You may accompany us. If I believe you have become a hindrance or liability, however, I will sever all relations. Understood?”

“Understood.” Oliver nods once. “Ra’s al Ghul.”  
  
***  
  
It is three nights before they manage to encounter Sara on patrol, atop the roof of a mid-sized skyscraper. 

Darhk is with her. 

Nyssa is not among the group that first engages with HIVE. 

Oliver Queen is.

That proves fateful.

By the time Nyssa has made it to an adjoining roof, Oliver’s accompanying squad has been rendered useless, laying around him, except Laurel who is held at gunpoint by the ghosts, unable to intervene. 

Oliver’s bow lays broken at his feet.

Sara has him by the front of his outfit, held fast.

Nyssa silently orders her assassins to fan out. Before they’re in position, though, Sara pulls Oliver Queen in close. 

He struggles.

She whispers something in his ear, and he pales, eyes widening. 

“Kill him,” Damien orders casually.

“Sara no!” Laurel screams. “Sara, please, listen to me.”

Sara does not even acknowledge that her sister has spoken. 

Easily, casually, Sara lifts Oliver Queen off of his feet and tosses him over the side of the building.

Thea screams from behind Nyssa, unable to control herself, and the gunfire follows soon after. Talibah pulls Thea, frozen, to the ground. The girl is still screaming for her brother. Nyssa manages to lay enough covering fire with her bow to allow Mr. Diggle to grab Laurel and pull her towards safety, before Talibah suggests, very strongly, that they pull back.

Nyssa gives the signal before reaching out and activating the pressure points that knock Thea Queen unconscious. Talibah puts the girl over her shoulder and leads the retreat. Nyssa manages to get a clear look across to Sara.

They lock eyes.

Nyssa finds her Beloved’s gaze completely unreadable. 

She ducks the gunfire and follows after her troops.  
  
***

 

tbc


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from a 6 week hiatus for the set up chapter. Thanks for sticking with me on this wild ride!

“His, um, GPS signature. It’s still moving.” Felicity’s voice crackles in Nyssa’s ear. “Pulling the security video now. A trash truck - he landed in a trash truck!”

Nyssa hears the hope in her voice, thinks it is for naught but doesn’t say so.

“Go,” Nyssa orders Al Riyyah and Yaraea. “Track down the truck and return with Oliver Queen - alive or dead.”

“I wanna go with,” Diggle says.

Nyssa nods her approval, scatters the rest of her forces, trying to become a smaller target. Darhk will think he smells blood in the water.

She is entering an abandoned safe house now, Talibah (with Thea) and Laurel in tow.

“Ollie could still be alive,” Laurel says, with that damned hope.

“Ms. Smoak has been unable to raise him on his comms.”

“Maybe they were broken.”

“The odds are just as good that the fall, broken by a truck or not, killed him.”

“Sara wouldn’t kill Oliver!”

“ _Sara_ is not in control,” Nyssa bites back. “You were there, Laurel. Damien Darhk was in control.”

She knows the hope that plagues them. She traveled to Star City on it, over a year ago, knowing full well it was false, but believing in it still.

Laurel is quiet as she helps Talibah lay Thea out on the beat up couch of the safe house. The girl will come to, soon, and it will be a full time job to handle her and her infinite grief. Nyssa has come to care for Thea and would undertake the job herself, had she the time.

“Should we return Thea to Verdant? Or would it be better if she and Ms. Smoak were apart?” Nyssa asks genuinely.

They could provide some comfort to each other, but that is also a large amount of grief in one room. And Thea Queen, half-trained and half-Pit-crazed, is an unknowable variable in this state.

“Keep her here,” Laurel says, brushing aside Thea’s bangs. “At least until we know more.”

“Make sure someone is with her at all times,” Nyssa orders Talibah. “Eat and rest. You too, Laurel. There is more of this to come.”

 

***

 

Nyssa gets the report she was expecting from Al Riyyah and Yaraea. She and Laurel arrive at Verdant just after the body, just in time to watch Felicity collapse in John Diggle’s arms. Laurel goes to them, and Nyssa gives them space to breathe.

Quentin, who had been here at Verdant with Ms. Smoak, comes to her side, looking disquieted.

“We gotta get control of this situation, or you or Laurel are next,” he says lowly. “And I don’t think we can get Sara back from killing either of you.”

Nyssa knows that. She simply is unsure how to proceed. All she knows is that Sara must be brought back, and she must not be allowed to kill again at Darhk’s command.

There’s a commotion at the door. One of her assassins has a sword at the neck of… Lyla Michaels. Head of A.R.G.U.S.

Wife of John Diggle.

Nyssa allows her through with a gesture. She gives her condolences to the bereaved. Comforts her husband. And then comes to stand toe to toe with Ra’s al Ghul.

“A.R.G.U.S. isn’t keen on watching the League and HIVE eradicate each other - too much collateral damage.”

“It will not be _mutual_ eradication,” Nyssa says tightly. “HIVE’s sins are many - why does A.R.G.U.S. protect it?”

“We’re not protecting it- we’re protecting the innocent lives that would be caught in the crossfire. And I’m not sure you want to start comparing lists of sins, _Ra’s al Ghul_.”

Nyssa stands firm.

“I will recover my wife and kill Damien Darhk. That is non-negotiable.”

Lyla holds her gaze.

“You have twenty-four hours. Then three battalions of A.R.G.U.S. ground troops will arrive to restore order to Star City. Anyone remaining, League or HIVE, will be shot on sight. Twenty-four is all I could buy you.”

“A.R.G.U.S. courts war with the League,” Nyssa says, voice deadly.

“A.R.G.U.S. wants _this_ war off U.S. soil. And how many wars will you fight in your first months as Head of the Demon?”

Nyssa bites back an angry retort, centers herself.

“Twenty-four hours, then.”

She refuses to turn around or walk away first. Director Michaels is formidable woman, mother to a child named in honor of Nyssa’s Sara, and in another circumstance, Nyssa can see her as as fine an ally as her husband. A.R.G.U.S. and the League of Assassins, however, will never have more than an uneasy détente.

Finally, Lyla retreats to Felicity’s side by the lighted table that holds Oliver Queen’s corpse, relieving her husband.

Diggle, hard-eyed, angry, and Laurel, wet-eyed, devastated but determined, join Talibah at Nyssa’s side with the other assassins. Captain Lance stays right next to Nyssa, his brow wrinkled in thought. Nyssa’s own mind has been evaluating options, running scenarios, and arriving at a plan.

“Twenty-four hours isn’t long,” Laurel notes.

“It is not, and the League will not leave this city until Taer al-Asfer is recovered and Damien Darhk is dead, no matter what threats A.R.G.U.S. makes.”

Her assassins nod firmly; Diggle and Laurel look uneasy.

“We will, however, endeavor to meet the deadline, and we will use it to our advantage,” Nyssa says. “Draw Darhk into a parley.”

“He will definitely not respect a parley,” Diggle argues.

“Of course not. But then neither will we. This is about setting the place and time of our confrontation.”

 

***

 

“And who are you?” Darhk grins, cold.

“Talibah, Heir to the Demon.”

Darhk’s grin turns into a smirk at the dead-eyed Taer al-Asfer at his side.

“Didn’t know you were a step-mother,” he drawls.

Talibah ignores him.

“Ra’s al Ghul demands an answer.”

“Fine. Parley. I get to pick the place.”

“No,” Talibah stands firm. She is the Heir to the Demon. _She_ is in command, even in this HIVE of enemies. “Those are not the terms. The warehouse I spoke of, away from civilians.”

“Nothing with heights, I see. Very well. I accept your terms. I will see your Ra’s al Ghul tonight.”

 

***

 

Thea arrives, having heard the news. Nyssa regrets not delivering it herself, and she can tell Laurel feels the same.

It is not grief that consumes Thea, though: it is rage. She does not sob, as Felicity did, does not sit glassy-eyed and drained, as Felicity does. (Understandably.)

“I don’t want to see the body,” Thea snarls. “I want to kill Damien Darhk.”

Laurel and Dig try to argue with her, but Thea keeps her eyes on Nyssa.

Nyssa nods.

“Stay by my side, Thea Queen, and we shall end HIVE together.”

Talibah returns, blessedly unharmed, with some basic intel.

So begins the final battle.

The initial skirmishes will be the teams scouting (and booby-trapping) the location. Then the perimeter teams, jockeying for position.

Finally, Nyssa will meet Damien Darhk face to face and recover her wife.

Or die trying.

 

***

 

Nyssa sharpens her arrows, alone, a pre-battle ritual.

Felicity Smoak interrupts, again.

“Are you going to kill him?” Felicity asks.

No introduction, no small talk. Nyssa appreciates that, appreciates the steel in Ms. Smoak’s eyes. It is different than the fire and the rage that burns behind Thea’s eyes. More lethal, ultimately.

“I will.”

“You killed Malcom Merlyn.”

“I did, with Thea’s help.”

“I heard Malcolm went fast.”

“Unfortunately,” Nyssa admits.

“So you’ll kill Darhk slow.”

“I can make no such promise,” Nyssa must tell her. “Darhk’s elimination is my top priority. And I fear he would merely enjoy the pain.”

Felicity nods, pragmatic as ever.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

The pain flashes across Felicity’s face, the pain Nyssa knows so well. That pain still lingers underneath her skin: she hasn’t had Sara back long enough to believe this is anything but some very complicated dream.

“Thank you.”

“He did not deserve a death like that. I know that he and I had… That he and Sara had… a contentious relationship at the moment.”

“Sara didn’t do this. Not really.”

It is probably easier for her to believe that, since she didn’t watch it happen. Still, it is true in the ways that matter.

“How can I help take down Darhk? How can I make him pay?”

“The same as you ever have, Ms. Smoak. You are an asset behind that computer, another set of eyes and an unparalleled mind to analyze the data.”

“That sounds like you’re benching me.”

“I can only handle two grief-stricken, half-trained soldiers in the field at a time, and Thea and Laurel have already claimed those spaces.”

Felicity laughs. Genuinely, surprising herself even. Nyssa feels a little bit proud.

“Fair enough. Just get the bastard.”

“I plan to.”

 

***

tbc


	21. Chapter 21

Nyssa has played this out in her mind a thousand times, in a thousand ways. She cannot beat Sara in one on one combat, though she knows that is what Darhk will want to do: set Sara upon her.

Before, of course, Nyssa usually had the upper hand when she fought Sara, unless her Beloved was “fighting dirty” as it were, attempting to get Nyssa’s lust to overcome her training.

But Sara is different now. The Siege of Nanda Parbat had made that clear enough, and the havoc Darkh has been wreaking across Star City with Sara as the weapon in his hand has only sharpened the impression. Sara is a force of nature, of **magic** , and Nyssa cannot beat her.

She can hold her own, though. Appeal to the Sara within her. Soulless and feral, Sara had listened to her. Perhaps now…

All she must do is buy enough time for Talibah and the others to get off a good shot. And then kill Darhk in the ensuing chaos.

Stave off her brainwashed wife.

Capture her.

Kill Darhk.

Just that.

Nyssa puts her head down, briefly, on the kitchen table of the safe house.

She misses Sara. She misses her snarky comments and obnoxious bravado, her lackadaisical approach to the threats they faced, even before she was magically enhanced. She misses the stupid card games and the teasing grins and the “kiss for good luck?”.

She wants her Beloved back. She is just going to have to win a war to do it.

Just that.

 

***

 

It’s all posture and dance, two sides staring down their respective bows and barrels.

Nyssa is so sick of it.

But she is Ra’s al Ghul, and the theatrics will always be a part of the role.

They stand in lines across from each other, in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, (that’s where these things happen: warehouses, mountain tops, empty docks, the occasional parking garage), swords metaphorically at the each other’s throats. In the rafters, snipers take aim at each other and at the principals below. At every corner, every nook and cranny, assassin and ghost stand ready, a breath away from killing the other.

It is tense, but Nyssa is bored. She is tired. Her eyes find Sara.

She is not bound in any way, but she is chained to Darhk’s side like a lethal pet. A sick sense of deja vu fills Nyssa again.

Sara does not make eye contact. She looks uninjured, but it is hard to tell at this distance. Nyssa longs to go to her, to shake her from this reverie.

Instead, she bides her time, face to face with Damian Darhk, loyal assassin at either side, bows drawn, Laurel and Thea right behind her, Diggle and Talibah set up in the rafters with those damned nets.

“Bringing bows to a gunfight,” Darhk says. “The League is so backwards, clinging to archaic traditions while the world keeps inventing new and exciting ways to kill each other.”

“Strange talk for a man whose greatest weapons are **stolen** from the League.”

Darhk smiles cruelly.

“Still upset I interrupted your honeymoon?”

“We don’t have time for your banter, Darhk.”

“Ah yes. A.R.G.U.S. comes knocking.”

“I tire of two-front wars, able as I am at winning them. What about you? Shall we come to a conclusion quickly?”

“You know what? Since you love your old traditions so much, let’s try this League-style. Single combat. Your champion. **My** champion.”

He gestures broadly to Sara.

“Very well,” Nyssa sighs, moving into the no-man’s-land between them, hand on her sword.

“Where’s your cute little Heir? I so enjoyed meeting her. She’s not going to be your champion?”

“I fight my own battles.”

“Figured you’d say that. And I’m **so** excited.” Darhk turns. “Go on, Sara.”

She steps forward at his command.

“Say hello to your wife,” Darhk orders.

Nyssa meets Sara’s eyes, thinks she sees a twinkle of **something** there, and Sara speaks:

“ _Fire.”_

Sara’s command echoes through the warehouse, and it takes Nyssa half a second to process that it is in Arabic. That it is directed to Nyssa’s snipers. It took her snipers less time to react, however, and arrows lance across the air even as the realization is still blooming in Nyssa’s mind.

In that moment’s confusion, several HIVE ghosts fall. Sara snaps the necks of the two closest ghosts and grabs Damien Darhk, twisting his arm behind him with a loud crack.

“Fire, you idiots!” Darhk calls to his ghosts, and the bullets fly, mostly up, trying to eliminate the death from above.

Sara kicks Darhk’s knee, and that cracks too. He staggers and grits out a cry. She takes his other arm and pins it back with the first one.

Nyssa cuts through the melee to confirm her suspicions, trusting her own soldiers to do their duty: take out as many ghosts as possible.

“Hey babe,” Sara honestly **grins** at her. She looks back to Darhk, dropped to his knees, arms pinned behind him. “You really thought I could be yours, Darhk?” She cocks her head. “Nyssa, tell him whose I am.”

Nyssa fights back the exasperation, just **goes with it** , because what else does one do when one’s wife has been **faking** her brainwashing for weeks?

“Mine,” Nyssa says.

“That’s right,” Sara says, kneeing Darhk in the back. “ **Hers**.”

Sara’s grin has turned lethal.

“You’ll never get out of this warehouse alive,” Darhk spits.

Sara chuckles, a dark sound.

“I don’t even know if I **can** die. You, though. I’m pretty sure you can die. Because you’re afraid. _May I_ , _Ra’s al Ghul_?”

Nyssa looks into Darhk’s otherworldly eyes and says: “ _My father should have done this, all those decades ago. Just another of his mistakes I have had to rectify. Do give him the message when you see him.”_

She nods to her wife, who lets go of Darhk. One of his arms drops uselessly to his side, but the other, lightning quick, starts to-

Whatever it was going to do, it does not get there, for Sara flicks open her bo and runs it straight through his heart. Darhk’s body falls to the ground, blood on his lips, and what little life there was in his eyes extinguished.

Sara pulls her bo back out, breathing out a heavy breath and then quirking a smile. The world narrows to her, perfect, **infuriating** , her.

“Habibti…”

Sara laughs.

“I’m sorry. I-“

Sara pauses mid-swagger and lunges forward, pushing Nyssa’s aside. The force of the shove puts Nyssa on the ground.

“Ow,” Sara grunts, looking down at the new bullet hole in her side. But it barely slows her down as she takes a knee beside Nyssa. “You okay?”

Nyssa puts a hand to Sara’s first face gently, and then with a light smack.

“ _You’re the one who is shot_.”

“Eh,” Sara shrugs.

“ _We should wrap this up, yes? And then I will properly yell at you for pulling an unauthorized subterfuge operation.”_

Sara smirks. “ _I look forward to it.”_ She hauls Nyssa to her feet. “Hey, is Oliver awake?”

 

***

 

Felicity’s cameras were working just fine until an arrow and a bullet, respectively, took them out.

They didn’t flicker out of existence before she watched Sara drive her bo straight through Damien Darhk’s heart, though. She doesn’t even get a chance to process what **that** means, when she hears Captain Lance cry out:

“ **What the fuck?!?!** ”

Felicity spins around in time to watch Oliver sit straight up, chest heaving, eyes wild.

Her heart skips erratically, and before she passes out, she manages to think how ironic it would be if she died of a heart attack right now.

 

***

 

 _“You **faked** his death?” _ Nyssa asks, incredulous, swinging her blade at another damned ghost, taking his arm off.

Sara disarms two and then smashes them together with a sickening crunch.

“Just a little pharmacological bait and switch. He should be up by now.”

Nyssa has a dozen thoughts about that, and none at all. Sara is so… Sara.

The ghosts are dwindling, retreating, and Nyssa does not wish to wait around for reinforcements. Director Michaels’s deadline is fast-approaching.

Nyssa’s assassins chase the last of the ghosts off, and the remainder meet in the center of the warehouse, around Damien Darhk’s corpse. Thea stares down at it, satisfied. Laurel rushes to her sister, embracing her without question. Nyssa activates the comm in her ear.

“Ms. Smoak?”

“Uh, Felicity is… recovering,” Captain Lance’s voice comes over the line. “You’re not going to believe this, but…”

“Oliver Queen lives,” Nyssa finishes for him.

“How did you know?”

“Your daughter is full of surprises, Captain. We will return soon.”

Nyssa orders her assassins to retire to the Foundry and turns to find her Sara at her side.

“That was for me, huh?”

She gestures to where Talibah and Diggle are shedding themselves of the modified grenade launchers.

“If it had come to it.”

“Cool…” Sara says, her eyes getting a little distant. “Gonna have a little trouble with electricity for a while.”

Nyssa grabs her hand and squeezes. “Understandably.”

Sara takes a deep breath and smiles her usual, cheeky smile.

Nyssa shakes her head, then reaches for the hem of Sara’s shirt.

“Okay, okay, I know I’m irresistible,” Sara grins.

Nyssa rolls her eyes adoringly. “Your **bullet** **wound**.”

“Oh right.”

It’s started to heal already, halfway there even. Nyssa feels a shiver run across her back, but she shakes it away.

“Not a bad side effect, huh?” Sara says.

_“I do worry this will only embolden you to make more reckless and terrible decisions.”_

“Count on it.”

 

***

 

Nyssa stands back from the jubilant reunions that fill the Foundry.

Talibah and her assassins are making arrangements for the League to take leave of Star City.

Although she saved his life, Sara gives Oliver Queen wide berth. That is a wound that will not quickly heal.

Sara soon weaves her way out of the throng and to Nyssa’s side. She threads their fingers together.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Nyssa chuckles. _“You know, you could have informed me that your apparent brainwashing was not real.”_

 _“Couldn’t risk it,”_ Sara says. She pushes up to kiss Nyssa’s cheek.

Nyssa catches her there, turns her face and presses her lips to hers, reminds herself that Sara is here, after all these weeks, after all these trials.

“ _I am so sorry, habibti. I put you at great risk, and I-“_

_“Hey. I put my **self** at great risk, on purpose. For **my** Ra’s. For my **wife.** And I would again.”_

Nyssa sighs. Her spine aches from keeping herself upright for so long, from bearing up her people, and Sara’s, while the world descends into chaos around her.

“ _I am so tired, Sara,_ ” she admits, dropping her forehead to Sara’s fingers playing idly with the ends of Sara’s hair.

 _“I know,”_ Sara assures her, tenderly. _“I know. Let’s go home, let you rest a little.”_

_“And where is home?”_

_“Wherever you say it is.”_

_***_

tbc


	22. Chapter 22

Although her time in chains actually improved her, uh, rage issues, by now Sara is in need of a little quiet. She retreats upstairs, into the abandoned night club. Nyssa is still downstairs, running logistics, the demands of being Ra’s al Ghul.

Sara isn’t alone for long though.

Felicity’s first, unsure for a moment, then folding her once again into a tight hug.

“Yep, I’m still here,” Sara chuckles.

“Thank you.”

“For making you think I killed your boyfriend?!” Sara asks incredulously.

“For not **actually** doing it.”

“I mean, I wasn’t too gentle when I tossed him over, and I hear, ‘double agent without telling anyone’ is sort of a sore subject around these parts.”

Felicity gives her that with a nod.

“If I had figured out a way to let you all know, I would have,” Sara promises.

“I know you would. Oh! I found Sin.”

Sara smiles. “Great. Keep an eye on her. I’ll come for her when things have settled down.”

“So, you’re like… a full on superhero now, huh?” Felicity pokes at the fully healed bullet wound.

“Something like that.”

“Oh, and Queen of Nanda Parbat!” Felicity beams, all the awkwardness finally chased away.

“Laurel’s gotten to you, too,” Sara grins.

“Congratulations, really. She, like, **adores** you.”

“Pretty fond of her myself.”

Felicity grins back at her. “Take care of yourself, okay? You’re gonna have a lot of people back here in Star City worrying about you.”

“Worrying about me? I’m bulletproof!”

Felicity rolls her eyes and grabs her into another hug.

 

***

 

Dig’s next.

Sara’s already raided the dusty bottles of booze behind the bar when he joins her, and she offers him a swig. He accepts as he also rests his elbows against the bar beside her.

“Thanks.”

“Thank **you**. I hear you served Ra’s al Ghul very well.”

Dig sips.

“Yeah, except for that whole ‘losing her wife’ thing.”

Sara jostles his shoulder.

“Stop. You did great out there. You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

Dig shrugs.

“Well, I’m still sorry. Also really sorry my wife is basically running you out of town.”

Sara chuckles and takes the bottle back.

“Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. How’s it going over at A.R.G.U.S. that the Director’s daughter is named for Ra’s al Ghul’s wife?”

Dig snickers. “Not sure they’ve figured it out yet. Still pretty mad about the Director’s husband serving the League for several weeks now.”

“Yeah, yikes.” She hands him back the bottle. “Take care of my mini-me, huh?”

“You got it.” Dig takes another swig and then warmly embraces Sara. “Take care of yourself. Not that I think Nyssa’s gonna let you out of her sight anytime soon.”

“No, I don’t think she will,” Sara agrees.

Dig stands. “I got one more apology to make.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I’m sorry about who’s coming up those stairs next.”

 

***

 

“Oliver.”

“Sara.”

“Wanna drink?”

He shakes his head, still looking more than worse for wear. The drugs she hit him with do a number on the system and falling fifteen floors isn’t exactly fun. He leans on a cane and broods at her.

She shrugs and takes another sip.

“Look, I know you’re still mad at me, but brainwashing my little sister into the League is not okay.”

Sara pauses, then puts the bottle down very carefully, so as not to break it and waste the booze. She struggles to recall all that newfound control.

“We didn’t brainwash anyone,” she says evenly, facing the bar, facing away from him. “Thea will be back in a few months, hopefully with something like a little peace.”

“You turned her into a killer!”

Sara turns around, lightning quick.

“You did that, Oliver! You and Merlyn. You messed around with the League, and then **you** killed Nyssa’s father, taking away Thea’s best chance to cure the bloodlust. Thea asked Nyssa to join the League, and Nyssa talked her out of it. Nyssa is going to teach your sister how to control what is inside of her, and then, if she wants, Thea can come home.”

He huffs.

“And if she doesn’t want?”

“She’s a big girl. She makes her own decisions. But honestly, I don’t see her cutting herself off from you. You’re the only family she has left. She just needs… time. And when she comes back, maybe you can get to know the adult Thea, not just your idea of little Speedy.”

He narrows his eyes.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to her. I love your sister. So does Nyssa. She asked us for help, and we’re going to give it to her. It’s not up to you.”

He sighs, then tries to crack a smile.

“Next time we see each other, think you could maybe not punch me? Or throw me off a building?”

“Depends on how much further you’ve taken your head out of your ass by then.”

Oliver laughs, just a little.

“Alright,” he says.

“Alright.”

 

***

 

Finally, her sister and her dad make an appearance. Sara puts the booze away.

“Hey kiddo.”

Sara kisses her dad’s cheek, grins warmly at her sister.

“Hey guys.”

“So you’re gonna head out soon, I’d imagine,” Quentin says.

He doesn’t sound quite as sad as she’d thought he would be. Maybe he’s getting used to saying goodbye. Maybe they all are.

“Yeah, not long before the A.R.G.U.S. deadline. Don’t wanna piss off my namesake’s mom.”

“Going to tell our mom?” Laurel asks.

“As soon as I safely can. Might take a few weeks for things to cool down here.”

“You gonna tell her about how you made us think you were a zombie for a couple weeks there?” Quentin says, crossing his arms over his chest. “And faked Oliver Queen’s death.”

Sara laughs. “Maybe.”

“How’d you do that anyway? The Oliver thing.”

“A fun little drug that Darhk kept on hand. The League uses it too, sometimes. I knew Darhk would want me to kill one of you guys eventually, so I smuggled some out with a little syringe. Old League trick. Stuck him with it, took him to the side, hoped to god to hit an awning or a truck. Trash truck was pretty funny, in retrospect.”

“And you didn’t think you could clue us in? On any of this?” Laurel asks. She’s hurt, Sara knows, but again, not as hurt as Sara had expected her to be.

“Look, Darhk tried for a long time to get me to take his mind control meds. I didn’t know how I would react to it, so I didn’t. Then he threatened to nuke the city, so I was kinda stuck.”

“And you took it?” Quentin asks.

“Yeah. But nothing happened. Like I was a little foggy at first, but then nothing. I guess my system processed it really fast. But I didn’t want Darhk to know that, and I knew if he started bringing me along with him, I’d finally have a shot at taking him out. Without being stuck in the middle of all his ghosts with all their big guns. And I couldn’t risk my cover to let you guys know. Your reactions kinda helped sell the whole thing.”

Laurel is shaking her head and then throws an arm over her shoulder.

“You’re the worst.”

Sara grins and elbows her sister in the ribs.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“For whatever reason,” Laurel smiles at her. Her eyes look to the top of the stairs. “Speaking of people who love you.”

Nyssa’s at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, hey, the family’s all together,” Sara teases.

Nyssa smiles at her, and Sara finally feels truly calm.

 

***

 

They talk and tease, and Sara promises to reach out as much as she can, when she can. She threads her fingers through Laurel’s, presses her hip against Nyssa’s, and watches her dad blush as he stammers over the revelation that he is **dating Felicity’s mother.**

It’s pretty nice.

But it has to end.

 _“We must go,”_ Talibah announces as she enters the bar, Thea at her side. _“This is not a battle we should fight.”_

 _“Agreed_ ,” Nyssa says, looking at Sara gently.

“Time to hit the road,” Sara says to her family.

They embrace, they exchange their “I love you”s. Laurel gives Thea an extra tight squeeze before sending her on her way.

Sara finds her place next to Nyssa, ready to leave Star City behind them. Then she remembers:

“Oh hey, there’s like this creepy thing, going on under the bay. Might wanna check that out!”

tbc in the Epilogue


	23. Epilogue

Nyssa makes good on her promise.

(She always does.)

White sand beaches. Brand new bikini(s).

Nyssa’s been a little unsettled. Things unfolded so quickly that Sara cannot pinpoint **when** that started, if it’s a holdover from the time she was dead, a product of becoming Ra’s al Ghul, or because of when she was taken.

Sara had a lot of time to reflect, chained in Damien Darhk’s compound. To make peace or something like it with her resurrected self: same soul, upgraded body. (New body? Maybe? The logistics of that are beyond her comprehension of philosophy and magic. Maybe she’ll email Felicity.)

But while Sara had been the one to pout and tease her way into the promise of a real honeymoon, she senses that it is Nyssa who needs it most. The new Ra’s al Ghul is just **so tired**.

Which is why she is passed out on the sand next to Sara, easily lulled into sleep by warm sun and salt air. Sara watches her with an easy smile. The constant guards are far enough away, here on this private beach, that it almost feels like they’re alone. Sara sighs and moves closer to her, pressing their sandy hips together and wishing she could nap, too.

The fact is, even without a mission to focus on, Sara simply no longer needs as much sleep as she once had. And considering she once had the sleep schedule of a League assassin, that’s saying something.

She might have to dedicate herself to the study of meditation more fully from now on, if only to train herself to relax enough to regain the intimacy of shared naps.

For now, Sara reapplies sunscreen to Nyssa’s exposed back and continues to watch her sleep. This particular nap, on their first full beach day since arriving, is impressive. It’s going on hour three since they emerged from the waves and settled onto the soft beach blanket.

Nyssa needs it, though. Deserves it. Sara just hopes she wakes up for dinner - the two of them in their rented house, finally sharing a little quiet. If she has to carry Nyssa off the beach still sleeping, though, she’s happy to do that, too. Happy to have a second chance, on the terms they set, to live a life together.

Nyssa begins to murmur in her sleep, growing more distressed, and Sara reaches over to brush her hair behind her ear, watching the light play with the soft highlights in her dark hair. Nyssa relaxes under her touch, and Sara smiles again, whispering:

“ _That's right, I have you. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, ever again. You’re gonna get sick of me._ ”

Dying brings with it clarity. As much as she loves her family, her last thought, as the life drained from her, was Nyssa.

Her first thought, as life slammed back into her, was Nyssa. She hears the soulless shell of herself was a pretty big fan of Nyssa’s, too.

Dying has made the choices that had seemed murky and difficult before become crystal clear. Dying had showed her that everything else paled in comparison to Nyssa.

It is the cheesy type of thing that Sara would have balked at in her first life. She has always adored Nyssa, always **wanted** her, but she was also self-centered and easily distracted by the existential angst of the two competing versions of herself. But all along, Nyssa has loved both versions, worshipped both versions, devoted herself to both versions.

Nyssa understood the duality of Sara Lance and Taer al-Asfer, long before Sara herself had. And after Slade, Nyssa had been the first to welcome the new hybrid self Sara had begun to forge out of the crucible of Starling City.

A forging cut short by Merlyn’s arrows. A forging accelerated in the drowning waters of the Lazarus Pit. And all along, right beside her, at every step Sara allowed her to be, was Nyssa al Ghul.

And now, Sara never wants to leave her side. Now, Sara wants to help **her** forge her own new identity, to find her place as Ra’s al Ghul, to balance it with the Nyssa she was before.

Sara lays back down beside Nyssa on the beach. She still can’t sleep, but after all this time, she can certainly enjoy the sun on her face, the sand in her toes, and her wife, serenely sleeping, beside her.

 

***

 

Nyssa did not buy Sara one new bikini: she bought her one for every day they plan to be here. Twenty-one, in fact. Because she **can** , and it made Sara smile and roll her eyes, and Sara **died.** Nyssa is so grateful to have her back beside her (under her, on top of her…) that she will give her anything she even thinks of wanting.

Unfortunately, Nyssa has only the barest recollection of the first three bikinis, much to her embarrassment.

She has been sleeping: actually, finally, shaking off the exhaustion that has plagued her since she looked at Oliver Queen’s face and realized Sara was dead.

 **Was** dead.

She has awakened, on morning #4, feeling as if she has had her own rebirth, her mind finally clear, limbs no longer a millisecond behind.

She has awakened, on morning #4, to breakfast in bed and bikini #4.

It’s a black suit with more decoration than Sara would have chosen for herself, silver charms laying against freckled skin. The bullet has left no trace, and Sara’s once multi-scarred skin is likely to never scar again. Nyssa lets her eyes rake, unabashed, over long legs, toned stomach, high breasts, and cocky, cocky grin.

 _“Good morning_.”

“Morning. You gonna try this whole being awake thing?” Sara teases.

“ _Perhaps. At least long enough to have some breakfast_ ,” Nyssa says, adding a playful yawn.

“Uh huh.”

Careful not to disturb the tray across Nyssa’s lap, Sara drops to the soft, white sheets next to her, stealing a piece of bacon.

It **is** a joke, though. Nyssa finally feels awake. Ready to take on whatever the day brings. Whatever her wife may want to do.

“ _I have been neglecting you terribly_ ,” she says, knuckles drifting across Sara’s smooth cheek.

Sara pulls a playful pout. “ _Terribly_.” But then she grins and kisses Nyssa’s palm. “ _You needed the rest, and you’re very cute when you sleep_.”

“ _That is sure to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.”_

_“Hey! No one else better be seeing you sleep.”_

Nyssa rolls her eyes fondly, reaching for her cup of coffee and giving it a sip.

_“What would **you** like to do today, habibti?”_

Sara’s grin turns impish, and she leans over to press a few featherlight kisses to Nyssa’s throat.

“ _I can think of something._ ” A swift bite has Nyssa humming. “ _Like I thought I saw some nice seashells down by the-“_

Sara’s teasing is cut off by Nyssa’s growl, and Sara laughs, brightly, adoringly.

Nyssa wants to flip her over right now, make her pay for her insolence, but she is pinned down by the breakfast tray, and really quite hungry. Later, though. Definitely later.

 

***

 

They stroll along the beach, hand in hand, build bonfires to cuddle next to at night, make love by the (in the) pool. They lose themselves in each other in a way they’ve never had the luxury to before.

Nyssa whispers her fears about leadership into Sara’s shoulder. Sara slowly recounts the limbo of the Pit, the endless days in Darhk’s custody. They relearn every inch of each other, body and soul, renewing and strengthening the bond that tethers them together, in this life and the next.

And they **laugh**. Nyssa laughs more than Sara has heard her, maybe ever.

Duty awaits them. A League to rebuild. Lingering traitors to root out and destroy. (Al Kahina especially will be under close scrutiny.) Thea Queen, currently under Talibah’s watchful eye, will need to be taught and then measured.

But they will face all of that together, a truly united front.

And it is is still two weeks away.

Still two weeks of white sand beaches, brand new bikinis, and nowhere else to be.

 

***

 

fin

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for coming on this amazing ride. It's been a fun adventure, and a slightly different style, for me. This story is done, unlikely to ever be picked up again, but Exile!verse will continue, and I'll be moving on to a Legends of Tomorrow era Nyssara fic that was set up by An Inevitable Something.

**Author's Note:**

> Considering checking out my tumblr for Arrow-related rantings, pictures of lovely ladies, and the occasional awesome Exile!verse fanart from variety-ownage. a-windsor.tumblr.com


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